will you come down, before the sun is gone?
by brennansboys
Summary: He picks up the phone, but wishes he hadn't, the ground falling from below his feet as he hears the words he never wanted to hear: "Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing." A story following Booth, Brennan and the team as they attempt to find Christine and bring a serial killer to justice, but will their relationship survive long enough to do so?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Title comes from Joanna Newsom's "Anecdotes".**

 **Set during the first half of season 11, after Jared died, but before Hodgins was paralysed.**

He fiddles with his gambling sobriety chip, flipping it between his fingers in an anxious movement as he sits in his office discussing the case. Another young girl – this time only three years old – has been reported missing. This follows a string of disappearances of girls around the ages of four to six over the past few months. So far the investigation has turned up five bodies of young, innocent children and no sufficient leads.

As time progresses and more and more people are beginning to catch on to the suspicious number of missing children, the stakes intensify. It doesn't help that the person responsible appears to be escalating; his two most recent victims (that they've found) were murdered at the same time and now, just a few days later, another girl has gone missing. There's only so much longer they can keep this case under wraps before it leaks to the press and all hell breaks loose across the entire District of Colombia.

Booth rubs his eyes wearily as he stares at his computer screen willing something, anything, from the evidence to scream out at him and provide him with a lead. He has the DoJ breathing down his neck to solve this one, the families of the victims wanting to lock up the killer and the internal pressure of having three kids himself, understanding the pain the families must be feeling right at this moment. He knows if it were one of his, he doesn't think he could survive and he certainly wouldn't rest until the person was brought to justice, which is why he determines to keep fighting. He doesn't want to let the parents down, all the victims' families and friends; he wouldn't forgive himself if he did. So he works continuously from seven in the morning until early hours the following day and the bags under his eyes are evidence that the exhaustion is beginning to take its toll. He desperately needs to sleep for about one month straight, but there's somebody out there abducting, abusing and murdering young children like his own. He can't stop – he won't, not while the killer is out there, free, subjecting more and more innocent lives to pain and suffering.

He answers his phone when it rings, listening carefully as he is informed that another body of a young girl has been discovered at the edge of the Potomac, bringing the total body count up to six, although the techs cannot confirm or deny whether it is the body of Lily Edwards, the missing girl, until the squints back at the Jeffersonian analyse it.

They tell him that the body is small and slight with short, brown hair and although it's likely to be Lily's corpse, to not get his hopes up for them to be crushed once again.

He mutters a quick "thank you", however, he doesn't feel grateful for the news at all and hangs up the phone, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh.

He flicks his chip through the air, catching it and smoothing the pad of his thumb over the design on the front. He's slowly but surely recovering, even though cases like this make him want to disappear to Vegas forever to forget his worries.

He glances at a framed picture on his desk, one a nurse had taken in the hospital after their second son had been born and reminds himself why he can't relapse. His family needs him and, truth be told, he needs them, too.

Booth doesn't say anything for a while, staring intently at his family's photograph. Brennan's smile bright and beaming as she proudly admires the new-born in her arms, looking beautiful despite the wet strands of hair that cling to her face and unflattering hospital gown. His daughter lies beside them in the bed, her smile identical to her mother's. He longs for the time, later in the day, when he can embrace his family and know they're safe, that nothing bad can happen to them.

"This guy is getting worse and worse," Aubrey laments, pulling a disgusted face as he flicks through the case file and catches a glimpse of the numerous decomposed bodies of the children.

"Tell me about it," he responds, letting out a breath of air in a half-sigh, half-chuckle type sound.

The killer is highly intelligent, experienced and is likely to have had medical training at some level in order to carry out the traceless kills they've accomplished so far. He changes his MO each time he kills in what Booth thinks is a way of distracting the authorities from the serial nature of the crime. Poisoning. Gun shot wound. Blunt force trauma. Starvation. Drowning. The only link they can find between the cases is the similar victimology and the strategic placement of the bodies always alongside a body of water.

He opens the pictures of all six crime scenes. Each victim is positioned similarly, lying on their side, curled up slightly, dressed in pyjamas, as though they are sleeping peacefully.

The Jeffersonian have examined the pyjamas and blankets found with each victim, but have – once again – drawn blanks. A common theme in this emotionally gruelling case.

"The signature body disposal must be important," he tells his partner, rotating the computer screen so the younger agent can see it. "The method of killing changes each time; it isn't important. As long as they're dead, the killer doesn't seem to care how it happens. However, the placement of the body remains consistent for each victim, so clearly that's what the killer finds significant. Perhaps it's the reason why they're doing this."

He agrees. "I'll take these pictures to the profilers, see what they think," Aubrey replies leaving the office.

Booth sits in his chair for a while longer, but realises that there's nothing more he can do here, not today, and, for once in this case, decides to take an early night to spend time with his family.

He arrives just as Brennan is about to serve dinner and his five year old, his little Christine, runs to the door to meet him. He smoothly picks her up, scattering kisses over her face, making her giggle and loving the sound. She clings on tightly to him as he carries her through to the dining area where Hank, his youngest, is already sat in his high chair.

Hank's eyes light up when he spots his father and he eagerly holds out his hands towards Booth. He puts Christine down in exchange for the seven month old who he hugs tightly. It feels good to just hold his son – his precious baby boy – and forget about everything at work for a while.

Brennan enters the dining area, plates in hand. She puts Hank's baby meal of mashed potatoes and vegetables on the tray of his high chair (which Booth has re-seated him in) and Christine's leftover lasagne in front of her. She returns to the kitchen for her and Booth's food, her husband trailing behind her to collect the various drinks.

Work has been chaotic ever since they returned and it feels like forever since they all shared a family meal together. Booth determines that, no matter the size of the storm raging at work, they have to make time for this, for their family. This case is teaching him, if nothing else, that it's important to savour family time while you can because there are monsters out there and you never know when everything could be harshly torn away from you.

He's listening intently, minutes later, as Christine recounts her day at school to him, sparing no detail. She's so like her mother, he thinks, from her eyes to her smile and the way she's somehow mastered her mother's headtilt and the stern expression he dubs "Brennan's schoolteacher look". They talk in exactly the same way, Christine selecting unusually long words that children her age shouldn't know. She's very smart though, taking after her mom. He thinks she's probably too smart for her own good when she brings up the murders that they'd apparently been discussing in class. One of the other students was related to a victim, according to his tiny genius.

Brennan's eyes widen in shock as she looks immediately to Booth for guidance. He doesn't know what to say either, how to explain this to his little girl without exposing her to the horror of the situation. He wants to be able to protect her from the world in which he lives in, a world full of murder and cruelty. He wants to cocoon her (and Parker and Hank) away from it all for as long as he possibly can, although he knows it's unlikely for his children to be shielded from his work forever.

His wife hates lying, especially to Christine. She always says exactly what's on her mind, but when their daughter asks them, her tone afraid, if she'll be safe, her heart breaks. She kneels in front of the small girl, takes her hands, squeezes them comfortingly and promises that mommy and daddy won't let anybody hurt her. She'd normally say she can't make a promise like that, but Christine already looks terrified and Brennan doesn't want to make the situation worse.

They finish their meal and Brennan takes Hank for a bath, the baby having missed his mouth entirely, smothering food throughout his face, body and hair instead. Booth sits on the sofa, Christine leaning into his side as she watches her favourite show. He grimaces at the excessively bright colours, over-acting that's uncomfortable to watch and the garish music. His daughter seems to be happy though and it makes it all worthwhile. After a couple of episodes, he decides she's watched enough for the evening and tells her to get ready for bed.

"Daddy, I'm scared," she confesses once she's dressed in her pyjamas and lying in bed.

His face falls. If he didn't have enough motivation to catch this killer before, he sure as hell does now. Booth squeezes onto the bed beside her and wraps his arm around her. She snuggles impossibly close to him, trapping him next to her. He gently strokes her hair and, eventually, after several soft lullabies, she drifts off to sleep, her grip on him loosening. He kisses her temple, lingering there for a moment, silently promising that he'll make sure nothing ever happens to her and that he'll arrest this bastard. He leaves then, undressing and climbing into bed with his wife, who's already in a deep sleep.

The next morning, he's sat in his office, Cam opposite him as they rake through the case files, discussing the preliminary results of the latest victim, including the fact that she _is_ Lily Edwards, the missing girl and that a fractured hyoid suggests that strangulation is the cause of death, however Dr. Brennan is still examining the remains.

He receives a phone call and a wave of fear seizes him. He already knows what it is – another girl has gone missing and he doesn't particularly want to answer it. He wants to block out all the murder and cruelty and injustice and lets the call go to message. Cam glares at him for avoiding his responsibilities, rivalling his wife in terms of scariness. When the person immediately rings back, he picks up the phone, but wishes he hadn't, the ground falling from below his feet as he hears the words he never wanted to hear:

"Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing."

 **This is the first properly angsty/case fic I'm writing and although a large proportion of this story is already written, I'd really appreciate any feedback you could give me (good OR bad) so I can make this story the best it possibly can be.**

 **Thank you for reading! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

He puts the phone down on the desk, staring at it for several minutes, his brain whirling too fast for him to do anything else, think about anything else. He just sits there, staring, his eyes misting over and his heart breaking in his chest. For some reason, he remembers a conversation he had with Brennan a long time ago – before they were a couple – when she told him that the heart is in fact a muscle and it cannot break, but it can be crushed. He thinks that's what he's feeling – his heart being crushed into dust; everything he knows, everything he loves crumbling away from him.

He replays the words over and over in his mind. Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing. Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing. Your daughter. Missing. Your daughter has gone missing. He rakes his hands through his hair, leaning against his desk, hiding his face from Cam. He feels physically sick. Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing.

"Seeley? Seeley, is everything OK? What's going on? Seeley?" Cam's voice is concerned, but he can't focus on her words as his images of his daughter, his precious Christine, brutally attacked and murdered like the other victims run through his brain.

Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he jumps in shock, then relaxes slightly when he realises the hand belongs to his old friend. Her eyes are wide, terrified, as she once again asks him what's wrong.

"Chri-." His throat feels dry, too dry to be able to talk and he takes a swig of water that lies on his desk, though he wishes it were Scotch. "Christine." He can't say it. Verbalising it would make it real.

Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing.

He swallows, moisture building behind his eyes. "Christine, she's, um, she's – gone."

Her sharp intake of breath kind of makes him want to die. She doesn't cry easily; she's strong, always has been, but he hears her crying, her breathing short and erratic as tears flow without restraint down her cheeks. He scrunches his eyes tightly shut and attempts to block out the sound, but it overwhelms him.

"Dr. Brennan," Cam gasps through her tears. "Dr. Brennan – does she know?"

 _Bones._

His thoughts suddenly switch to his wife and, if possible, everything hurts more.

He imagines his wife's face when he tells her that their daughter has gone missing. There's a serial killer on the loose, targeting girls just like Christine and she's gone missing. He knows his wife will be distraught, unable to cope with her emotions. She's already lost so much – her mother, her family, Vincent, Sweets… Nearly him. He doesn't want to tell her they might have lost their daughter too. He doesn't.

Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing.

"Camille – can you do it? Can you tell her for me? Please?"

Her eyes are uncertain. "Seeley, you're her husband. This should come from you."

"I can't. I can't tell her, I can't do that to her. Please." His voice is agonising, desperate and in all her years of knowing him, she doesn't think she's ever heard him sound like this, so afraid. Agent Booth your daughter has gone missing. Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing. Agent Booth, your daughter has gone m-.

"Fine, I'll tell her, but you're coming with me." She shushes him when he goes to protest, giving him a firm, authoritative look. "You and Dr. Brennan need to be together for this. It won't be easy and you have to be there for each other, or you won't make it. You won't bring Christine home. Do you understand me?"

Agent Booth, your daughter has gone missing.

He nods frantically.

When they arrive at the Jeffersonian Institute Booth hangs back, letting Cam take the lead. He stares at the gardens – the place that means so much to him, the place where he married Brennan, the best moment of his life, when he watched his little girl toddle down the aisle. He aches at the memory, wanting so desperately to lift her into his arms, like he did that day, scattering kisses all over her face. He swallows, looks up to find Cam is already at the door and hurries to catch up.

They walk through the lab and scientists smile at them, wishing them well. He doesn't respond, incapable of feeling anything besides pure, devastating sadness. He spies his wife as they near the bone room and his feet suddenly feel heavy like lead. He's terrified, honestly. He doesn't want to break this to her. He can't.

She looks so pretty, he thinks. He's been loving what she's been doing with her hair lately, the shoulder-length curls complimenting her perfectly. She looks at peace, too, serene as she always does when she's examining remains, completely in her element. He hates that he's going to have to take that serenity away from her; he absolutely hates it.

"Hey, Booth," she grins, glancing up and finding her husband stood in front of her, along with Cam. "What are you doing here? You don't like the lab and I don't yet have any new developments on the Lily Edwards case."

"Hi, Bones," he croaks. His wife's face falters and he knows that she's sensed his unease.

"What's wrong?" She asks, placing the ulna back in its anatomical position, removing her gloves and walking towards him. "What's happened, Booth?"

"Bones… I-." He looks to Cam, his eyes pleading with her.

"Booth?" Every second that passes increases Brennan's worry. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Dr. Brennan, I- I really hate to do this, but, um, well… Christine… Booth received a phone call when we were in his office… and, um, they said that… Christine has gone missing."

" _Sorry_?"

"Christine has gone missing, Dr. Brennan," she repeats. "Do you need a seat? Water? Anything?"

Brennan doesn't reply, her eyes flicking to her husband. Realisation now dawns on why he's acting so weird and unlike himself and why he can't talk to her. His head is bent towards the floor, his eyes closed, a pained expression stretched across his face. She even detects a single tear rolling down his cheek. She doesn't say anything, just feels a cool glass being pressed against her skin and accepts it with a nod, her gaze immediately switching back to Booth.

"How long?"

His head lifts. He grimaces; he knows the statistic off by heart. "Two hours."

"Ninety-nine percent of abducted children are killed within the first twenty four hours," Brennan recites. "Statistically, she has twenty two more hours to live, unless she's been murdered already."

" _Bones_!" He snaps, horrified. "This is our daughter you're talking about. _Christine!_ Don't say stuff like that."

"What, Booth? It's a fact. I'm just stating the truth that she is unlikely to survive." Her face crumples as she talks, her walls tumbling down. He sighs deeply, taking her into his arms.

Cam leaves the room, deciding to give the couple privacy and needing to cry herself. She glances back before she leaves the room, seeing her friends gripping onto each other for dear life.

"We need to collect Hank from daycare," Brennan says, her rationality returning after ten minutes with her husband, him stroking her back and whispering comforting words into her ear.

"Let's go," he agrees. "You got your things?"

"They're in my office, Booth." He takes her hand, entwining their fingers together as they head in the direction of her office, separating only for Brennan to pick up her bag and coat and then they practically sprint towards to the car.

The daycare nurse is evidently shocked when she sees the two dishevelled parents rush through the doors.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, I didn't think you'd be here until this evening…" She takes in their appearances, their red faces and their inability to let go of their tight old on the other. "Is everything OK?"

"Christine has been abducted and we need Hank with us. Is that acceptable for you?" Brennan says bluntly, while Booth spots their oblivious son, picking him up from his position on the floor, where he was playing with another kid. His heart rate returns to a normal pace as he feels his son in his arms, holding him close to his chest and pressing a kiss to his light, fluffy hair.

"I-. I'm so-."

"Sorry?" Brennan raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I imagine you are. Most people tend to be apologetic towards those in situations like ourselves. We need to be going now," she says and they leave the daycare as quickly as they arrived.

"He's safe, Bones," he reminds her as she buckles Hank into the baby seat in the back of the car, pausing to just watch him as he happily giggles away, blissfully ignorant to the trauma their family is going through and is about to go through.

"I know that, Booth. Christine isn't, though, is she?"

"No," he murmurs sadly. "No, she isn't. Which is why we need to hurry up and interview the teachers. God knows how it took them two hours to notice our child had disappeared."

Aubrey is already outside the classroom when they arrive, Hank settled on Brennan's hip. Booth gives him a curious look and asks, "what the hell are you doing here?"

He holds up his hands at the older agent's brusque tone. He knows it's not intentionally malicious, though. They're just going through an unimaginable situation. "I'm an FBI agent on this case, Booth. And… the bureau believes Christine's disappearance may be linked to the… recent killings. Thought we needed a more objective person to talk to the teacher."

"You think I can't be objective? I'm the most objective person I know," Brennan protests. "I am perfectly able to compartmentalise my life. I accept this is for work and can quite easily remove my personal feelings from the interview."

"With respect Dr. Brennan, this is your daughter we're talking about. I know you're extremely good at being objective usually, but this is not a typical position you are faced with. You don't know how you will act."

She goes to argue again, prevented by the teacher opening up the door and allowing them into the room. Booth and Brennan share a look before they enter and Brennan's hold on their son tightens a little. They're both thinking the same thing: _this is where Christine was taken from._

 **Thank you for all of your reviews to the first chapter, I hope you've enjoyed this one just as much. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for your response to this story - I really appreciate it :)**

They enter the classroom and Christine's teacher gestures for them to take a seat across from the principal. Brennan and Aubrey sit down, Brennan adjusting Hank so he's sat in her lap facing her. She plays with him a little as her husband is reluctant to sit down. He's wandering around the classroom, pride surging through him when he spots a drawing on the wall appropriately boasting that Christine Booth is the artist responsible. It's a picture of their house, with him, Brennan, Parker, Christine and Hank stood outside. He remembers her drawing it a few weeks ago, but he never knew it made it to the classroom display. His little girl is so talented.

He continues meandering, ignoring requests from the teachers for him to sit down. He reaches the empty cloakroom, save for one coat and bag, which he'd recognise anywhere. He swiftly picks them up and sifts through her bumble bee bag; her full lunchbox is still inside, meaning she probably hasn't eaten since their breakfast of waffles and, if so, the killer may be recycling an old MO. Starvation. The thought hurts his heart, but he forces himself to focus. He needs to if they stand any chance at reuniting with their daughter.

"When did you first realise my daughter was missing?" He begins the questioning, sitting next to Brennan.

"After playtime. They were outside in the play area and when I called them in for lunch, Christine wasn't with them," the teacher replies, closing her eyes. "If I think about it though, she hadn't been there since morning break."

"It took you several hours to notice one of your students was missing?" Aubrey chimes in, disbelieving.

"Look, Miss Henderson is one of the best teachers we have. She's good with the children, she covers all the material, she gets along with all the members of staff… The accusatory tone you are carrying towards her now is highly unjustified. She didn't take your daughter; she's not the person you're looking for here."

"With all due respect, my daughter has been kidnapped, potentially by a serial killer who is on the loose and this was the last place she was seen," Booth argues back, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes at the principal. "Plus, I'm FBI in the middle of a serial killer and child abduction case. I can ask whatever questions I want and if you refuse to cooperate, I can just arrest you for obstruction of justice. Is that what you want?"

Both teachers opposite him shake their heads.

"Good. Now I think I'm being pretty fair considering the extenuating situation, but I will ask you again and I expect a full and justified answer this time. Why did it take you several hours to notice she had disappeared?"

"I don't know," Miss Henderson says, anxiously fiddling with her fingers. "The class is pretty large, it can be difficult to track all of their locations at all times."

"Are you fucking serious?" Booth curses, his temper rising. "That's your _job_."

" _Booth_ ," Aubrey warns.

"No, Aubrey, she lost my daughter. She lost her and didn't even fucking _realise_!"

"Mr Booth, we still have children here, please mind your language," the principal admonishes, her eyes moving pointedly towards his son.

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through Hank's messy hair, feeling himself cool down and return to a somewhat rational state in order to finish the investigation.

"Did you notice anything unusual lately? Anybody you haven't seen before – a car? A van?" Aubrey continues with the questioning, all the while watching his senior agent warily, knowing he is on the edge of completely snapping. It's understandable given the circumstances, but he doesn't want Booth potentially jeopardising the case.

"No, no, nothing like that."

"Did the, uh, the victim's behaviour seem off to you?"

"She seemed particularly quiet, but, honestly, I didn't see her long enough to make a proper judgement."

"Is that unusual? For her to be quiet?" He directs this to Booth and Brennan this time, who share a concerned look. They both know it's the total opposite of Christine's personality to act subdued, even bordering on unnoticeable. The little girl loves attention.

"Very. Christine is, let's say, talkative, full of self-confidence, like her mom."

"I'm so sorry," the principal apologises, catching the sadness in the eyes of the married couple, guilt crushing her from within. "I'm so sorry you've lost her."

"Her name is Christine," Brennan croaks, speaking for the first time. "This whole time you've referred to her as a- a victim, or our daughter, or she… Her name is Christine. She's a normal little girl, one of the greatest things that's ever happened to us, and, due to your negligence, she's gone. Christine's gone."

Booth sees the pained expression on his wife's face and knows that she's fighting tears. He places his hand on her shoulder supportively, rubbing circles there in an attempt to relax her.

"So you saw nothing?" The younger agent presses onwards. "None of the other children were acting strange?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Booth scoffs. "Do you know _anything_?"

"E-excuse me," the teacher stammers, her doe eyes widening, intimidated by the huge FBI agent.

"Booth, maybe we should calm down," Aubrey suggests, watching anxiously as his partner tears into the teacher in front of him.

"No," he snaps, shooting Aubrey a glare. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, you're not a parent, but we," he points his thumb towards an uncharacteristically quiet Brennan, "have lost our daughter. Our perfect, beautiful, amazing _daughter_. We brought her to school this morning, we trusted them to make sure she's safe, at the very least, but now a serial killer has her and they had no idea. I am fully entitled to yell, to be pissed. _A serial killer has my little girl._ "

"I understand, Mr Booth. But, please, something like this has never happened before," the principal pleads, only infuriating him further.

"First of all, it's Agent. Secondly, " _something like this has never happened before?"_ Are you fucking kidding me? It should have never happened now. A child went missing, a child you are paid to look after, a child you are under contract to protect. I hold you," his eyes flick between the two women, "fully accountable for Christine's disappearance. After this case is over, after I've found my daughter, I will be pressing charges."

"Please, Agent Booth," the principal begs. "We have an excellent reputation. Our test scores are exemplary."

"My daughter has been kidnapped from your institution and all you want to talk to me about is reputation and test scores?" He asks, an incredulous look on his face. He removes his phone from his pocket, receiving a notification. He and Brennan have a meeting with the parents of the other victims and a group press conference, where they'll be expected to plea to the killer, appeal to his conscience. Although Booth thinks somebody who can kill six young children, potentially countless others, won't have a conscience whatsoever. His experience tells him they're likely dealing with a sociopath, somebody who finds no issue with killing in cold-blood and no matter what happens in this press release, they'll still continue to do what they do until they're caught.

"We need to be going," he says, standing up, Brennan following his lead. He notices the tightness of her hold on Hank, the way she's clutching on to him like a lifeline, like he's her anchor preventing her from losing it, completely breaking down like he has. He wishes he could be the same for her, but they haven't yet had the time to talk alone. Everything is full throttle and while he just wants to be with his wife, talk this situation through with her, they don't have the time. Their daughter is still out there and they need to find her. _Fast._

* * *

Christine whimpers, feeling a sharp kick to her back sending her tumbling down a dark stairwell. She lands in a heap at the bottom, knowing she is bruised and likely has broken bones, like the ones her mommy examines at work. She tries to remember the name of the bone in her arm, where it's currently throbbing with pain, but she can't. She thinks it begins with a u or something but the pain is too great and the situation too frightful for her to remember much else.

She hears the looming steps of her attacker and her heart rate rises again. She feels their callous hands against her skin, lifting her, though not in the way her parents ever did, carefully, gently, full of love and compassion. This touch is hard, violent and although Christine cannot see, she thinks they probably have a snarly face, an evil one, just like the bad people her mommy and daddy catch for a living. She hopes and prays to God like her daddy taught her, wishing they will catch this one, take her away from them forever, take away her pain.

She is in the arms of the stranger for a long time, too long, although she feels she has lost the concept of time, seconds feeling like minutes and minutes dragging out excruciatingly for hours. She doesn't know how long she's been here, how long it's been since she was in the playground, pulled away from her life, her world into this place, plunged into inescapable darkness.

She notices a change in smell, clearly they have entered a new room, a new building, and the pungent odour overwhelms her senses, bile rising in her throat. She doesn't know how anybody could put up with such a smell. She has no idea what it is and nothing she does can minimise its effect on her.

A while later, she is dropped in a heap to the floor, a cold, hard floor and she hears the slamming of a door, a metal gate perhaps, and the only just discernable click of a lock.

* * *

The sight of the press swarming around the lawn makes his stomach turn as he pulls into the driveway. The cameras immediately angle towards his car and he wants to grab them off the photographers, throw the devices to the floor. He wants to smash them and smash them and smash them until they are no longer recognisable, until they can no longer capture his and his family's pain, their misery. He gets out of his side of the car, demanding Brennan stay where she is. He wraps Hank in a blanket and, even though he fusses, he has to hide his face, protect him from the onslaught of media is too young, too innocent to deserve. He holds his son, his grip firm, then opens Brennan's door, helping her out. His arm snakes around her shoulders as he leads them inot the building, staring down the lines and lines of journalists and cameramen clicking manically and screaming for a quote.

He spots the mourning families the moment they walk into the room and he feels extremely sick. He recognises most of them from the cases; their faces more pale, their hair more grey, their hold on each other looser than before. All attention flicks to his family when they seem them and the sympathy is overwhelming. It's like they pity them and he does _not_ want that at all. Christine isn't dead yet. She isn't. And besides, he doesn't need their pity, or anybody else's for that matter, what he needs is his daughter.

 **Review? :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Your reviews yesterday made me smile SO MUCH. I cannot thank you enough for all of your kind words. :)**

Aubrey knocks on the door and forces a smile as he enters the profiler's office. The woman, around thirty years of age, has a kind face, making her seem easy to talk to and somewhat easing the agent's nerves. He sits down on the couch opposite her, leaning back into the comfortable sofa, wishing the bureau allowed him such comforts in his office, but no, apparently a standard desk and chair are required.

"Agent Aubrey, I'm Dr. Aline Dunn," she introduces herself, sticking her hand out for him to shake. He does so, impressed by the firmness of her handshake. He didn't work with Dr. Sweets long before the profiler past away, but he'd heard of him and his talents and he knows Booth's devotion to the man. It feels weird seeing a psychologist that isn't him, as though he's cheating on Sweets, even though it's ridiculous. He's sure this woman is just as talented at her job as Sweets, but still. He knows both Booth and Brennan would feel considerably more comfortable if the curly haired profiler, who'd come to be their brother and friend, was working the case instead. "It's a pleasure to meet you, although I do wish it were on much nicer terms. I apologise for Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan's situation; I can imagine this is a very difficult time for them. I'll include them in my prayers."

Aubrey isn't religious, though he murmurs, "me too," wanting to do everything for the couple he has come to adore.

"So," she says, pulling out a notepad and pen, getting down to business. "How can I help you?"

Right. Business. Aubrey pulls out the case file from his lap and removes pictures of each victim, each carefully positioned corpse and the environment in which they were placed. He lays the distressing images in front of her and sighs, the investigation taking its toll. No matter how many times he sees these pictures, it doesn't get any less shocking, less horrific. The bodies are etched into his mind and the thoughts haunt him in his sleep. He shakes the sadness away and focuses. They need to catch this guy, not only to bring justice to these victims and their families, but also to help return Christine to Booth and Brennan.

"We have a serial killer targeting young girls up to the age of six. There's seemingly no patterns of victimology here other than the age range and gender; it feels disorganised, random, but surely abducting and then murdering countless young females requires an abundance of planning."

"I agree, the killer has to be patient and willing to plan for weeks, possibly months, in advance of the abduction. He probably follows the victims around, getting to know details of their daily lives, where they go and when, trying to calculate when would be the optimum time to strike," she replies.

"He?"

"Yes, in cases like these, the person you are looking for is likely a male, probably white, straight. They'll be between twenty-five and forty, still living at home, working a dead-end job like a sales assistant at a supermarket or something. He'll not have very much control in his life, which is why he seeks out these young girls. He feels he has power over them because they're young, vulnerable and can't fight back. It will be the only aspect of his life where he feels he's in charge. If they were any older – or male – this killer wouldn't be confident enough to abduct them, let alone commit murder."

Aubrey nods along, scribbling notes down. "What about the lack of MO? What does that suggest?"

"Usually serial killers have a comfort zone, something they like to stick to – a method of kill that satisfies them the most or fulfils a fantasy," Dunn explains knowledgeably, having studied these type of killers for a long time. "The absence of an MO here implies he is new to murder, he hasn't done this before, hasn't found the method that satisfies him, yet."

"And we'll know when he does because he'll repeat the method?"

"Exactly," she smiles. "You've got it, Agent Aubrey."

"One final question for now," he begins nervously. "I know the chances of survival after twenty four hours are very low in this type of case. But… what do you think are the odds that Christine is still alive?"

"It depends whether the fantasy is the murder itself or abducting them and watching the children, and their families, suffer."

* * *

"I'm so sorry for your losses," is the first thing Brennan says, her face filled with sadness. "I wish it didn't have to be this way but I promise you that my lab is working ten times harder than usual to catch this person."

"Thank you," the woman closest to Booth and Brennan responds; they recognise her as the mother of the second victim, Michelle Green. "We're all very sorry about your daughter, too. We hope you find her."

Booth just nods. "If you don't mind, we'd like to talk to you all again about your daughters, whether you noticed anything different. Our profiler tells us that the killer likely followed your – our children for weeks, maybe even months before the date of abduction."

Booth, still holding Hank protectively, questions the fathers and Brennan, the mothers, in the hope they will feel more comfortable speaking to somebody of the same gender.

"I… I don't remember seeing anybody different… I mean, the house opposite ours was having building work for the month and a half before Sophie was taken… You don't think?"

"It's a possibility," Brennan says sadly, making a note of it. "Anybody else?"

"My daughter was taken from her school," Mrs Green chimes in and Brennan's mouth opens slightly in shock. "What is it?" She asks, noticing Brennan's change in demeanour.

"That's… where my Christine was taken from, too. Her school."

The woman's eyes fill with moisture. "This is horrible. How could any human do this?"

"I've been working with people like this for over ten years and, honestly, I still have no idea," Brennan replies. "Anyway, any changes around the school?"

She thinks about it for a minute or two, then her face brightens with awareness. "A house opposite was having construction work done as well!"

"So that's how the killer has been watching, under the rouse of a builder."

"Are there any builders by your daughter's school?"

"No," Brennan says, worrying her lip. She twists her wedding ring on her finger in an anxious motion and looks over her shoulder for Hank and Booth. Her husband is still talking to the victims' fathers but their son is giggling away, capturing the attention of everybody around him.

"He's very sweet," one of the women – who introduces herself as Lynnette – says, catching Brennan's stare towards her family. "Your husband, too. He's extremely easy on the eye."

"I agree." A hint of a smile appears on Brennan's face despite everything going on. "Which one is yours?"

"The fat one with the grumpy face," she says abruptly, carelessly and Brennan's eyes dart to her in surprise. "We're getting divorced though, thankfully. I won't have to be married to the boring bastard for too much longer."

"Why are you getting divorced?" Brennan questions, before catching herself. If Booth and Angela heard her, they would tell her the question was too forward and it would come across as rude. So she backtracks. "If you don't want to answer, that's OK."

"No, no, it's fine," Lynnette smiles. "I think we fell out of love a long time ago and, to be honest, Lily was the only thing keeping us together. Add the stress of abduction, two weeks of not knowing where our daughter was, whether she was dead or alive and then the indescribable grief of losing her; it's enough to make even the strongest couple call it quits."

Brennan faces Booth again, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in his shoulder and cry herself to sleep in his arms, needing this day from hell to be over.

"I'm sure you and Agent Booth will be different," she says, seeing Brennan's reaction. "You seem to love each other very much. And you have another child to care for."

"We actually have two. Booth's son, my step-son, Parker, he lives in London with his mother… He doesn't know yet."

Her eyes are downcast, the rollercoaster of a day finally catching up with her, when a Latino man enters the room, saying the press are ready for them. Brennan instinctively grabs Booth's hand and he squeezes it tightly.

The families line up behind the selection of microphones from each major news outlet. It's been planned that each set of parents will come forward, say their piece, their plea for justice, their begs for this to never happen to anybody else. They do this in order of the victims, so Booth and Brennan are last and already emotional as they stand in front of the microphones.

"Our five year old daughter, Christine Angela Booth, the most amazing, beautiful, smart girl you've ever seen has been missing for around three hours now. She was snatched from her school playground and, while the staff are partly to blame, we believe the killer, the same person who took these other six young girls, is responsible. As the lead FBI agent on this case, I want you, and I'm speaking directly to the killer now because I know you're watching this, taking pleasure from our suffering, I want you to know we're going to find you. We'll find you and we'll bring Christine back to safety and you'll be locked behind bars for the rest of your sorry existence."

Brennan feels faint as she clutches Booth, cameras flashing all around them. They return to the other parents and eventually the press conference is over and they can go home to bed.

Booth moves Hank's travel cot to his side of the bed, locks and bolts every single door, window and any possible opening to their house, feeling a bit like Hodgins but not caring, needing to keep his family protected. He places his gun in the drawer of his bedside table, just in case, and then, finally feeling somewhat safe, he brushes his teeth and gets into bed beside Brennan.

* * *

Her phone vibrating manically beside her bed, Cam is harshly pulled from her sleep. She grabs at the device, her eyes still shut. She groans, squinting in the darkness of her bedroom as she puts the phone to her ear.

"Cam?"

"Dr. Hodgins?"

"Yes, hi, I'm so glad you're awake," he says excitedly, sounding like he has had far too much coffee.

"I wasn't," she deadpans, glancing at the clock beside her bed and groaning again. "Hodgins, it's two AM. What do you want?"

"I need you to come to the lab immediately. I think I've found evidence that Christine is still alive."

 **Review? :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**The longest chapter yet. Hope you enjoy (as much as you can when I'm putting B &B through so much angst, lol) Oh, and any inaccuracies in the science are all my fault, I tried my hardest, but I'm an Geography student, human anatomy is not my strong point :)**

Brennan wakes up with Booth's arms still wrapped around her protectively, his body curving against hers. She can hear his heartbeat, feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, and smell his musky scent. She wishes she could just lie here forever, forgetting all their problems, their responsibilities, just being in her husband's arms, letting him sooth her anguish.

She didn't sleep for long last night and what little rest she did get was tormented by vicious nightmares of Christine and what they're doing to her, what they might do to her. She knows she woke up from one particularly traumatic dream by screaming loudly and frightening both her husband and son. It had taken them all a long time to get back to sleep after that.

Booth hadn't slept much better himself, the bags under his eyes as he makes a coffee later that morning showing for his restless night.

"We should ring Parker," Brennan says as she holds the milk bottle for Hank, rubbing his back comfortingly. She wonders if he has any idea of what is going on, if he can sense the distress his parents are going through and if he notices the absence of his big sister who he adores so much. She sincerely hopes he doesn't. He's too young to warrant such pain in his life. As is Christine, but she can't do much about that now, whereas she can protect her son. She thinks, even if Christine does survive this, life will never be the same again. Her little girl will forever be tormented by dreams and memories of her capture and Brennan won't be able to do anything to stop them. She wants to kill the person responsible for doing this to her daughter, to her family, but first they actually need to find them and, of course, find Christine.

"He deserves to know," Booth agrees, setting up his tablet on the table and clicking on his son's name. He takes a deep breath.

He forces himself to smile as the Skype call connects, so as not to worry Parker as his son's face fills the screen.

"Hey, dad!" He says, waving at the camera. "Hey, guys!"

Brennan takes Hank's little hand and waves it at his older brother, earning a broad grin from Parker.

"Hey, buddy! How are you?"

"I'm good. It's cold here, though, as usual. And school is good, just boring, you know?"

"I'm glad," Booth replies. He then glances at his wife and remembers the real reason for the call. His face falls and he clears his throat. "Um, Park, we have something to tell you. It's horrible and scary, but don't freak out, OK? We're… we're working on it."

That only worries Parker more. He takes in his dad's concerned expression and the crestfallen look on Bones' face. He's never seen them like this before, not unless somebody close to them has died. He saw it when they told him about Uncle Jared a few months ago. "What's going on?"

"Christine has gone missing," Booth says tearfully.

"WHAT?" Parker yells, his mouth dropping open in shock. "What did you just say?"

"Christine has been kidnapped," Brennan clarifies for her husband, who's struggling to hold back his sobs. "We suspect it is the work of a serial killer we are currently investigating."

Again, he yells, "WHAT? A serial killer? What the hell is going on over there?"

"Yes. We don't have any evidence yet that it was the same person who took her, but the murders all have similar victimology to your sister. It's logical that she's with them."

"She's not dead, is she?" He asks, his tone afraid. "Please tell me she's not dead. I can't lose her. She's… she's my little sister. Please tell me she's not dead, Bones. Dad."

The two adults share a look over their other son's oblivious head. Booth decides to speak. "We don't know, Park. We can only hope at this point."

"Oh my God." He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. They travel down his face where he feels a trail of wetness running down his cheek. He hadn't even realised he started crying. "This is… I can't believe…"

"We can't either, buddy," the older Booth whispers brokenly. Parker's sobs strengthen and he wishes with all his heart that he could wrap his arms around his son and comfort him like a dad should be able to do.

"Are you guys OK? It's a stupid question, I know, but you're OK, right? You're eating?"

Booth lets out a strangled chuckle. "You're supposed to be the child, Parker, not the other way around."

"I'm growing up quick, dad. Besides, these are extenuating circumstances."

"You are growing up very quick," he returns, surprised as his son's choice of vocabulary. "To answer your question, yes, we are."

Parker raises an eyebrow. "Enough?"

"I promise you we are. Try not to panic, buddy, OK? We're going to find her."

"We _have_ to find her," Brennan says and Booth's eyes flick to her as she comes into view on the screen. She suddenly changes the subject, as if the onslaught of emotions are too much for her to handle at the early hour and asks Parker if the wallpaper behind him is new.

The teenager is caught off guard by the abrupt shift in conversation. "Um. Yeah, yeah. Mom decided the old one needed an upgrade."

She purses her lips, scrutinising the design behind her stepson. The distraction is refreshing. "It looks nice. Very mature."

"Thanks, Bones. I got a new poster up, too, look-." The camera wobbles as he picks up his laptop, walking with it to the other side of his room, where a photograph of the England football national team sits proudly beside one of his American family. "Isn't it cool?"

Brennan isn't looking at the poster, the photograph next to it capturing her attention. They'd taken it at Thanksgiving, when she and Parker had arranged a visit, surprising Booth. It had been a wonderful week. She remembers the caseload being pretty light, meaning they could spend the majority of the time with their three beautiful kids. The image was taken by Rudolfo Fuentes, Brennan's Cuban squintern, who was also invited to Thanksgiving dinner. They're all sat around the table: Booth and Brennan next to each other, Brennan's face lit up with a smile as Booth says something to make her laugh, Parker beside Booth with baby Hank on his knee. Angela occupies the chair next to Parker, with Hodgins and Michael Vincent on her other side. Cam and Aubrey stand behind them, the latter grinning widely. They'd just finished the meal and the FBI agent was beyond satisfied by the spread his mentor and friend prepared. It's a fantastic picture of the group; everybody dressed in their nicest clothes, happy, fully engulfed by holiday spirit. It's not everybody else that Brennan focuses on, however, it's Christine, sitting beside Brennan and beaming brightly. Her daughter looks beautiful in her floral purple dress they'd bought especially. She'd been so excited to wear it and it had been a battle to get her to change into her pyjamas at bedtime.

"Bones?" Parker says in a sing-song tone. "Is everything alright?"

His voice breaks her out of her reverie and she nods over-enthusiastically. She swallows. "I'm fine."

"So, poster – cool or not cool?"

"Super cool," Booth buts in, noticing that his wife is struggling to take control of her emotions. "You're not calling it football yet, are you?" He shudders at the thought.

Parker lifts one shoulder. "What can I tell you, dad. Most countries in the world call it football, so technically _you're_ the weird one for saying soccer."

He laughs softly as he exchanges light banter with his son, all the while watching his wife carefully. After a little bit longer, he says, "we need to get going now, Parker."

"You'll keep me updated?"

"As much as we can."

Parker nibbles on his lower lip, not totally satisfied with his father's answer. He realises, though, that it's probably the best they can offer right now, being in the eye of the storm. "OK. I love you guys."

"We love you, too, bud," Booth replies, the corner of his mouth lifting to form a smile, before he clicks off the call and any remnants of a smile completely fade away.

He doesn't know how long he sits there for, staring at a blank screen, his face devoid of happiness. He feels a tapping on his shoulder and hears his wife call out his name. He turns to face her, his expression inquisitive.

"I just received a text from Cam. Apparently Hodgins has evidence that Christine is still alive."

* * *

He pushes Hank's stroller through the entrance of the Jeffersonian Institute, his wife ahead of them, her pace unusually fast and frantic, determined to reach Hodgins' entomology suite as fast as she can. Booth is hot on her heels.

"What do ya got?" He questions the moment he enters the room while Brennan anxiously bounces up and down on the spot. He glances around the lab for any hint of a clue, but he doesn't understand anything the machines tell him. He waits impatiently for Hodgins to finish up with a vial of liquid, his hands finding Brennan's.

Hours later – or maybe it's only been a few seconds, he's been so intent on his daughter's disappearance that he's lost track of time – Hodgins taps on his keyboard, a picture of a bug appearing on the screen. Booth eyeballs it. He blinks. Unsure of what it means, he crosses his arms across his chest and waits for the simplified version of his squinty explanation. It arrives several moments later: "found on the corpse of our sixth victim, Lily Edwards, this bug – I won't even try to explain because I know you're not listening – suggests the killer keeps their victims for several days before killing them."

"How many days?"

"At least a week," Hodgins says, a grin breaking out onto his face.

"Why are you smiling?"

"It means Christine is still alive."

Booth shoots him a glare. "He kills them after the week is up, bugboy."

"I-."

The FBI agent holds a hand up. "Save it," he says curtly before storming out, the door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

She'd told Booth to go back to the Hoover Building, that he'd be more useful there and that she would be fine on her own. He'd agreed to go, albeit reluctantly and, after pulling back her hair into a ponytail and putting on her gloves, Brennan begins her examination of the victims' remains. This is what she teaches her interns: to go back over cases, learning something new every time, so it's what she decides to do. Continue searching until she finds the truth.

First, she goes to the table where the first victims' bones lie. Sophie McNally, aged just five years old. Caucasian. Cam had run a tox screen when the body had first been found and discovered lead poisoning was cause of death. Brennan can't garner much else from her remains.

Next, Michelle Green. Negroid. A fatal shot to the sternum. No gun shot residue. No particulates. Nothing.

Frankie Porter had been killed by blunt force trauma. The spider web fracture to her cranium suggests a heavy, blunt weapon with a large striking surface like a sledge hammer was used to kill her, with an extra-dural haemorrhage being the official cause of death. However, without the weapon they can't confirm anything and her case is left in flux.

Starvation and drowning, next. Susie Carpenter and Ava Hudson. More drawn out, torturous homicidal methods. Unlike the others, these two seem to be more calculated, thought out. They weren't spur of the moment kills like the previous three.

Then Brennan moves to the final table, the most recent victim, Lily Edwards. She picks up her fibula and begins to finger the bone. Feeling the fissures is much better than simply looking at them. She's reminded of when Booth and Christine play hockey together and he sticks stuffed bunnies to her shins for "protection." She finds one antemortem fracture, fully remodelled. Probably from an accidental fall. Nothing to do with her death.

She gently returns the bone to the table and picks up the ulna for examination. No perimortem fractures there either, just a couple of breaks from over a year ago. Lily must have been a very active child for her to have so many injuries for such a young age. Her and Christine would probably get along, she thinks. Although her daughter loves less physical activities such as drawing and reading, she equally loves to run around in the mud, play sports with her dad, Parker and Uncle Russ and play tag, of course. She takes after both of her parents in equal measure.

Brennan takes a deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. _Focus on the remains_.

She sees several incised wounds between the thumb and fingers, meaning Lily made an attempt to grab the knife blade from the assailant. Lily Edwards fought back. She quickly makes a note of it because, even though it won't assist toward the conclusion of this investigation, she thinks Lily's parents would like to know how brave their little girl was in her darkest moments.

She continues looking for cause of death, all the while desperately trying to ignore the skeletal similarities between this girl and her daughter. She closes her eyes as Christine's face superimposes itself on to Lily's skull. _Breathe, Brennan. This is_ _ **not**_ _Christine. Relax_. She blows out a breath and reopens her eyes, grateful for the bare skull to have returned.

She moves on to examining the vertebrae and it's here that she finds cause of death. There's one deep slash across the back of the neck and, as she strokes her finger across the area, she notices the lack of hesitation marks that are typically associated with suicidal cuttings of this type. Which means the killer cut her throat, a particularly brutal and horrific murder that causes a shiver to run straight to her core. She's dealt with a lot of death and a lot of victims, but doing _this_ to a _child?_ It makes her feel sick just at the thought of it. It screams of a rash, sudden decision, like the killer didn't intend to kill her, but then something Lily did or said set her off and the innocent life was gone in seconds.

Brennan writes all this information down, including measurements of all the injuries and sends the bones to Hodgins to check for particulates, even though she doesn't believe he'll find any. Even in spurts of rage, this killer somehow remains meticulous, not leaving a trace. They never fully lose control.

As she closes the case files, she makes a silent promise to these girls that she will find out who did this to them. Their killer may be smart, but Brennan knows she's smarter.

 **We're getting there, but there's still an awful long way to go before this case is resolved…**

 **Review? :)**

 **P.S. I figure a lot of readers are probably American and I don't want to ruin your 4** **th** **of July by posting chap. 6 (which is extremely angsty and was SO difficult to write, just a warning). So, verdict – would anybody read chapter 6 if I posted it tomorrow or not? Let me know! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Just gonna apologise in advance...**

He lays awake, the bedroom around him dark and silent, save for his wife's faint snoring. Rolling onto his side, he props himself up by his elbow so he can see her better. She's told him off before for watching her sleep, but she looks so peaceful and serene in stark contrast to the past few days, he can't physically take his eyes off her. He stares intently as her chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. She's still alive; she's still with him. Despite everything going on, he still has her and he clings onto that fact like a Koala clings on to its mother. It's the only thing that keeps him breathing, knowing that he has her. He spent so long with an empty bed, the occasional woman coming or going, none of them staying for long enough to affect him the way his partner does.

On the surface, they seem like complete opposites, like their relationship would never work, however, deep down, they both suffer with an intense fear of abandonment. Because of this, as well as their natural chemistry and obvious appreciation of each other's impressive physiques, their relationship has been more successful than anybody ever thought possible.

He reminisces about how all of this started, when they'd finally taken the plunge, diving into a romantic relationship together, taking their partnership to the next level. Parenthood.

He'd been delighted when she'd announced she was pregnant and he was the father. Over the moon. It was quick, unexpected, but amazing and the evolution into life together with a child had been incredible. She, of course, had become the perfect mother he always knew she could be. She's really blossomed since the birth of their first child, finally coming into her own. She's happier now; it's plain to see. Everybody notices it, asking what's changed. The scientist once labelled cold is now caring and maternal. He's so proud of how she's changed, developed. It's been for the better and he's so glad that she isn't crushed by loneliness anymore. She goes to sleep every night in his arms and greets the new day in the same position. He thinks he has been partly responsible for her change, but it's mostly thanks to Christine, the precious little girl who is so much like her mom, with the similarities between them growing stronger each day. She's brought indescribable joy into his wife's life (as has Hank since he was born).

As he observes Brennan in more detail, he can see the darkening circles beneath her eyes, the stress lines furrowing her forehead even as she sleeps and her fading red cheeks, evidence of her days spent crying inconsolably.

The light that their children have brought into Brennan's life has diminished without Christine with them. The bright, shining happiness that their daughter represented is no longer present and his wife is suffering deeply because of it. He is, too, of course, but he knows his wife is feeling the pain, sorrow, sadness even more.

His ringtone shatters the silence of the night and he curses, grabbing aimlessly at his bedside table where his phone lies. Beside him, he feels his wife stir and his son begin to whine quietly. His hand connects with the phone and he clutches it, bringing the device in front of his face. The light as he unlocks it is startling and he has to blink several times before he can see his screen. He accepts the call, Cam's distraught voice sounding through the speaker. With three words, she manages to destroy his entire world.

" _She's dead, Seeley_."

No, no, no, no, no. Tears come to his eyes immediately and he can't stop the waterfall that rushes down his cheeks. His body is shaking, his mind going crazy. He drops the phone, leaving Cam to call out his name over and over, but he ignores her. It can't be true. It just can't be. His daughter can't be dead. He claws at his face, his sobs wracking his body from head to toe. He feels sick and darts out of the bed, landing on the bathroom tiles in a slump. It hurts his knees, but he doesn't care. He's lost his reason to live. His baby girl is gone, _forever_. Brennan appears behind him. He knows because he can feel her small, dainty hand on his shoulder, massaging the expanse of skin as he hurls into the toilet.

"Booth, are you OK?" He hears her say in a quiet whisper.

He shakes his head. No. He's not OK. He doesn't think he ever will be again.

"Booth, are you OK?" She repeats and he scrunches his face up in confusion. He already answered her. He shakes his head again, more exaggerated this time. Again, he hears her say, "Booth! Booth! What's going on?", the volume of her voice rising.

Without realising, he's back in his bed, Brennan awake at his side, watching him with wide, panic-stricken eyes. He's writhing under the covers, his skin shining with sweat. He's repeating "no, no, no, no, no!", his expression filled with horror. As he comes back to reality, his eyes focusing and the room becoming less blurred, he hears the piercing sound of Hank's screams and guilt pounds through him.

"Is h-he alright?" Booth stammers.

"He will be," Brennan responds, soothingly stroking her son's back. "Are _you_ OK? _You're_ the one who had the nightmare. It looked horrific, Booth. What happened?"

It was only a nightmare, he sighs in relief.

Her eyes are fixed on him as his expression falters; he doesn't want to needlessly upset her. "Booth?"

"It wasn't real."

"Booth, talk to me."

"Fine. IgotacallthatChristinehaddied," he murmurs quickly. He winces at Brennan's sharp intake of air. "It's not real. It's not real."

"Right." She pauses. "It could be though."

He shakes his head firmly, his gaze staring back at her seriously. "She will not die. We will find her."

"How do you know, Booth? How can we be sure she's not already dead and the killer isn't just playing with us?"

He sighs. They don't know. They can't possibly. Unlike most cases, they seem unable to figure this killer out. They're complex, methodical and scrupulous. They haven't left a single clue on the remains, nothing that would trace back to them. It's extremely infuriating. They would have normally solved this by now but even with the FBI taskforce and most of the DC Metro working this, they just keep hitting dead end after dead end.

"I feel I would know if she were dead in real life. And I don't. So until then, we work tirelessly and eventually we will find something. We will catch this guy. I have faith."

Brennan eyes him warily. "What if he kills Christine before we can find him?"

"I don't know, Bones. I really don't know," he admits, running his hands over his face. "Ugh, I've got to hit the gym. Blow off some steam."

 **If you could take a couple of seconds to leave me a review, I'd really, really appreciate it. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, hello, here we go.**

His car lurches into the gym car park, hastily pulling into an empty space and breaking heavily to bring the vehicle to a stand still. He sits there, his hands clutching the wheel, his knuckles whitening, his stare blank and his breath short and sharp, like he's having a panic attack. He tries to focus his thoughts away from his nightmare as he forces himself to get out of the car, grabbing his bag and heading into the building. Considering the hour, it's almost empty, although Londi is seated at reception, a curious look on her face when she sees him.

"Hey, Booth. What're you doin' here are this time of the mornin'?"

"Need to blow off some steam," he says curtly, his expression tight. "Any trainers in?"

The blonde scans the computer screen in front of her. "You usually have Aaron, right? He'll be here in about 45 minutes if that's-."

"Nah, I'll get started by myself, if that's all right," he responds, throwing his hand up in a half-wave as he takes the familiar route to the men's locker room. He's been coming here for years and he always uses the same locker. Walking over to number 447, he unlocks it and stuffs his bag inside (having already changed into his gym gear back at home). He locks it back up and enters the main area of the gym.

Glancing round, there are very few people working out so he decides to hit the treadmill first. Stepping up onto the machine, he enters the required information. Height. Weight. Length of workout. Difficulty. He chooses a twenty five minute run and sets the level to the highest, thinking that will help him calm down. He usually prefers to run outside with Bones, but they haven't been able to do that lately, so the gym equipment will have to do. It takes him a while to even break a sweat, the supposedly "gruelling" workout no match for his ranger-trained body.

By the end of the session, his mind is beginning to clear and he's feeling more relaxed. Still, a tinge of pain torments him and he decides the only suitable relief would be the punching bag. Making his way over to them on the other side of the gym, he notices there's only one other person working out. The woman's fighting skills appear to be impressive, the bag swinging in all directions. Switching the volume of his music up a notch, he arrives at the bag and begins swinging his arms, gently at first so he doesn't pull anything, then more intensely, the bag jerking at each fiery punch.

He feels the hand on his shoulder before he hears them calling his name. He turns, popping an earbud out of his ear. "Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Aline Dunn," she says, a smile creeping onto her face as she sticks out her hand. Booth shakes it warily, still not knowing who she is. "I work with the FBI. I'm a profiler," she expands, realising he has no knowledge of her existence.

"Oh. Hi. I work for the FBI, too."

"I know. Special Agent Seeley Booth. Liaison to the Jeffersonian Institute. Former Sergeant Major in the Army. I've read your files."

He furrows his brow. "Um. OK."

"I notice that you're married to Dr. Temperance Brennan, too. I love her books; I've read them all. Three times!"

"Three times?" His lips quirk. "I haven't even read them that many times." _Other than page 187_ , he adds silently. _I know_ _ **that**_ _page off by heart._

"I'm a very big fan," she explains. "It's so great to meet Tempe's husband!"

The woman's eyes are wide, overly eager and, honestly, she's starting to sound a bit creepy. "Do you need anything, or? I'm kinda busy here."

"I just wanted to introduce myself."

"Right," he replies, putting his earbud back in place and throwing a few more punches, his fists jabbing he bag violently, letting out his frustrations. He feels another tap on his shoulder, growling in annoyance. He spins around to find the weird FBI woman still stood there, watching. "Can I help you?"

"I'm not stalking you. I thought you should know; I'm not cr- creepy or anything like that. Just interested. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm working your daughter's case. Christine Booth? I'm the profiler they assigned."

Realisation dawns and he nods slightly, uncomfortable with the topic that seems to be brewing.

"If you – or your wife – need anybody to talk to-."

"No, no, no," he interrupts, shaking his head. "There will be no shrinks. Bones and I are just fine."

"Bones?" She questions, confused.

"It's my nickname for Brennan. Bones. Because she works with bones, she loves bones, all she talks about is bones."

"I'm noticing a hint of resentment," she says, raising an eyebrow at him.

He rapidly backtracks. "I love her and there is no resentment at all. _This is why I hate shrinks_ ," he murmurs to himself.

"I heard that. You didn't hate Dr. Sweets."

Is this woman _trying_ to hurt him? "Sweets was different, but I don't want to talk about him."

Curious, she asks, "why not?"

"He was my best friend – no, my brother – and I don't like to think about him dying. It gets me down and I'm having a hard enough time as it is." He punches the bag once, twice, three times.

"Is that because of your biological brother Jared dying recently?"

He pulls back, his face filled with surprise. "How'd you know about that?"

"Everybody at the DC field office knew. I worked the case."

"Right." He throws another few punches. "Can you leave me alone now? I need to punch stuff."

"Substituting your emotions for violence is very common during times of intense emotional stress," she recites, clenching her fists and hitting her own bag. "I myself like karate, particularly after a tough case."

Booth nods absently, no longer paying attention to the profiler who refuses to leave him alone. The temptation to call security is overwhelming. He jabs at the bag, his anger easing as he takes out his frustrations.

"You know, it's been nearly a week since-."

" _No shrinks_ ," he asserts.

"You haven't even given me a chance! Clearly the bureau thinks I'm good enough to work this case!"

"I don't care about what the bureau thinks!" He retorts. "All I care about is my family and the fact that one of us is missing. That's all I care about."

"That's understandable, I'm just saying-."

"Don't." He pummels the bag then turns on Dunn. "Leave. Me. Alone."

She nods slowly, walking to a far area of the gym. At that moment, Aaron arrives, his eyes wide with surprise.

"What was that about, Booth?"

"Nothing," he mutters. "She was just lecturing me about how I need a shrink. Wouldn't leave me alone."

"Ah. Everything OK?"

"No. Just spar with me."

* * *

"He had a nightmare?" Angela repeats Brennan's words, an expression of surprise crossing her face. "That's unusual, isn't it? For him."

"He'll occasionally get nightmares on anniversaries of big events – like when Sweets died or things that happened in the army. Nothing like the one last night though." Brennan chews on her lower lip, bouncing little Hank up and down on her lap.

They're sat in the diner together at one of the tables by the window. Brennan had called Angela up when Booth left for the gym, inviting her for breakfast before work. Hearing the anxious tone to Brennan's voice, she'd agreed immediately.

The artist glances out of the window, unsure of how to reply. The situation is difficult, heartbreaking and all she wants is for Christine to come home. She watches as everybody rushes past the window, some adorned in suits, clearly headed to the office, others in casual clothes, jeans, shirts, sneakers, others in sports wear as they go on an early morning run. Her eyes skimming through the crowd, she knows the person who has Christine could easily be amongst them. They're sick, so she wouldn't be surprised if they're watching, taking pleasure from her best friend's pain. She spots a small girl in a throng of people, her short brown hair _exactly_ like Christine's and wearing an outfit she's pretty sure the young Booth owns. She's reaching her hand out to smack Brennan's excitedly, point her in the direction of the girl, when she turns around and is clearly _not_ Christine. Angela lets out a disappointed sigh, her eyes returning to Brennan's.

"How bad was it?"

"It was horrible. He was screaming and writhing in bed. I've never seen him look so distressed."

"The gym will help."

"Yes, it will," Brennan agrees as she plays with little Hank.

"Maybe you two should do something, take your mind of this for a day or two."

Brennan shakes her head determinedly. "I won't rest until I find her. Neither will Booth."

"But sweetie, you're both exhausted. You can't concentrate on finding Christine if you don't get any sleep," Angela says, worried about her the wellbeing of her stubborn best friend and her equally stubborn husband.

"We'll be fine," she assures her, grabbing for her cell when it rings. "Hello? Cam? What? When? On our way." Within seconds, Brennan is on her feet, buckling Hank into his stroller and throwing a couple of notes on the table. She's out of the door when Angela finally catches up to her, her face filled with concern.

"Brennan, sweetie, what's going on?"

"There's been a package delivered to the Jeffersonian. It's addressed to me."

 **This is where everything really starts coming together. Booth and Brennan ARE getting closer and closer, but they've still got some hurdles to jump before they're reunited with Christine…**

 **Review? :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**This was originally supposed to be two chapters, but when I typed them up on my computer and saw the word count I realised they were both still pretty short. Hopefully the two sections work together.**

"Does Booth know?" Angela asks, taking her steps double-speed as she follows her best friend into the Medico-Legal lab.

"I've sent him a message, but he's at the gym so it might take him some time to see it." Her answer is precise, but her tone distracted.

"Don't you think he should be here for this?"

"I'm not waiting, Angela," she snaps. Seeing Cam waiting on the platform, she hurries over, swiping herself in. Angela helps her with lifting the stroller up and even though Cam normally sticks to her mantra of "no kids in the lab", she waves at baby Hank and at Brennan's questioning glance, she nods once. Yes, he can stay. "Where is it?"

From one of the tables, Cam produces a large envelope that looks pretty full. Brennan accepts it apprehensively, putting on her gloves before she tears open the parcel. Cam and Angela surround her more closely, desperate to see what's inside. The first thing she pulls out is a sweater; Christine's favourite pink sweater, the one she was wearing the day she was taken.

"Is that…?" Angela asks quietly, the ending to the question going unspoken.

"Yes," Brennan replies sadly, closing her eyes as she fingers the knitted material. "She loves this."

"Sweetie…"

"I'm fine." Shaking herself back into gear, she places the sweater to one side and pulls the next item from the envelope. A picture of their family. Not a posed one; it's a candid, snapshotting their life as the two parents and two children depart Christine's school. She falters, her eyes lifting to meet Cam and Angela's. "We didn't take this."

Angela gasps, her hand coming to her mouth. "Oh my God."

"They marked Christine with a red 'X'," Cam points out, her facial expression just as shocked. "I feel sick."

"Me, too."

"Angela, you do look remarkably pale. Perhaps you should sit down."

She nods vehemently, sitting on the nearest stool. "You OK, sweetie?"

"I am not," Brennan replies, discarding the photograph with the sweater, turning it face down so she doesn't have to see it, her stomach also doing somersaults. Reaching her hand into the package again, she pulls out a transparent pocket. Her brow furrowing, she squints and sees a lock of hair. A lock of light brown hair. The exact same hair colour as her daughter's. Unknowingly, a tear slips down her cheek and Cam pulls her close for a hug. Brennan rests her head in the crook of Cam's neck, allowing her friend to comfort her.

"We can run tests to see if it's Christine's," Angela says. "Is there anything else in there?"

"A letter," Brennan replies, removing it. "It's handwritten. That should help us, right?"

"Definitely. What does it say?"

At that moment, Booth comes running through the doors of the Jeffersonian and hollers, "Bones!"

Cam swipes him in and he darts up to the platform, arriving at Brennan's side in seconds.

"What the hell's all this?" He questions on seeing the items laid out in front of his wife. His mouth drops when he realises. "Oh my God."

"My thoughts exactly," Angela says. "Brennan, read the letter."

She clears her throat and begins reading the words aloud, her voice unusually timid and uncertain.

" _Dear Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, or can I call you Temperance and Seeley?"_

"You can't," Booth spits angrily.

" _I feel we have started on the wrong foot. I am not a bad person, in fact, rather the opposite. I think we would get along quite well if we met. Your hatred for me is unjustified. Yes, I am with your daughter as I write this; she's sitting opposite me, healthy, beautiful, intelligent, just like you, Temperance. She is a very lovely girl. You are blessed to have her. I don't have any children myself. Christine's a good substitute; I think I shall keep her a little longer. I get lonely, you see."_

"Bastard," Booth retorts, his fist clenching. "I'm going to kill them."

" _Seeley-_."

"No, Camille! They have my daughter and they're planning on keeping her for what – their own psycho enjoyment? Just because they get lonely? Guess what, I'm lonely without my child!"

"Perhaps you should talk to that FBI shrink," Angela suggests, receiving identical glares from both Brennan and Booth.

"That pseudo science will not help us right now. We need to analyse this hair sample to check if it is Christine's and then search for fingerprints or any DNA evidence."

Her orders given, Brennan marches off towards the bone room leaving Cam, Angela, Booth and Hank (although he is drifting to sleep) in her wake.

"Booth-."

"You heard Bones. Go," he insists, turning to his son and distracting himself in his chubby cheeks, hair that sticks in all directions and his father's signature charm smile.

A while later, the three of them return, files in hand and body language which is even more deflated than before. He instantly knows the hair belongs to Christine and lets out a deep sigh.

"It's hers, Booth," his wife says, her voice hoarse.

He simply nods. He knows. He doesn't say anything more, he can't, he has reached his limit. All he wants to do is get _very_ drunk and cry.

* * *

Despite their prior reservations, their friends convince them to take the letter to Dr. Dunn, insisting that psychological insight _as well as_ physical evidence is the only way they'll find Christine. Booth eventually concedes the point, supposing that it won't hurt to try an alternative option, an objective view. Brennan says she still hates psychology.

So they sit on the couch in Sweet's former office, opposite a psychologist they really don't want to be talking to. It's an almost identical image to the one years earlier, although this time they're married and they're not discussing their partnership, they're receiving a psychologist's advice about the disappearance of their daughter.

"I'm glad you changed your mind, Agent Booth," she begins, folding her hands atop her lap, a pleasant, welcoming smile on her face. "It's wonderful to meet you, Dr. Brennan. I'm a big fan."

Brennan's expression remains firm. "Considering we're here to talk about my daughter's kidnapping, it's not wonderful at all, Dr. Dunn."

"Right. Sorry. OK. First thing's first, I've been told you have something for me."

"A letter," Booth supplies, handing over the sheet of paper inside the evidence bag.

Dunn's eyes skim over the paper. It doesn't take her long before she's looking up at the partners. "This is… interesting. I can gain a lot of psychological insight from this."

"Can you get on with it then?" Booth asks snappily. "Our friends are watching our son, but I- I don't like being apart from him these days."

"You were apart from him at the gym."

Brennan glances at Booth in confusion. "What?"

"Your husband and I worked out together at the gym earlier," the psychologist explains.

"You didn't mention that to me," Brennan says to Booth, surprised. Normally they share everything. Although nothing about this situation is normal.

"Didn't think it mattered," Booth says to Brennan, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug.

"It's extremely common for couples to become distant from each other during times of emotional distress."

Booth's jaw tightens. "Our marriage is fine. Get on with the shrink stuff."

"Right. OK." She observes the way Brennan continues to watch Booth, as though she wants to discuss more of what he's been keeping from her. Aline determines to get into all of that later and begins her analysis. "The writer of this letter is extremely narcissistic and also probably isolated. They mention they don't have any kids, which is perhaps a sign of impotence, or maybe just the fact that nobody wants to have kids with them. This will be the driving force behind the kidnappings and murders."

Booth jots down _"impotence"_ and _"isolated_." "Anything else? Still believe it's a dude?"

"I am almost certain you are looking for a male, yes," she replies.

"Anything else that tells you _who_ this person is?"

"Well, there's no name, Temperance. I'm an excellent psychologist, but I'm not a miracle worker."

Brows furrowed, the anthropologist say, "Dr. Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan," the psychologist repeats.

Booth glances between the two, the room filling with tension. "Um. Can we go now?"

"Not quite. I was reading your theory about a construction worker potentially being the killer and I have to agree. As well as being a suitable method for stalking the victims and their families, it also matches the profile of a male wanting to feel as powerful as he can. By working in a physical job, he can exert his power, although it is likely it's not enough for him, hence the reason he has turned to murder."

"Great. Except there are no building sites anywhere near Christine's school, or our home," Brennan says.

"No, wait. That house opposite has been having builders visit over a potential extension."

"You never told me that," she responds, her tone biting, frustrated that her husband never mentioned this lead sooner.

"I've only just remembered." His hand slaps his leg as he tries to rack his memory for the name of the company he'd seen on the van. Moments later, it comes back to him. "Carlton Construction!"

Aline flicks through the case report, seeing that's the same company that worked around the places where the other victims were taken from. "It seems we've found the connection between the cases."

Booth and Brennan both stand, preparing to leave the psychologist's office.

Booth: "Thanks for the help."

Brennan: "We have no evidence for any of what you just told us, but I'm sure a small amount will be pertinent to the case."

Dr. Dunn lets out a soft chuckle. "Hey, if you two need any help," she holds out her business card, "I also do couples counselling."

They both turn away, disinterested. They won't need that. They'll be fine, just like always. Right?

 **Thank you for all your reviews so far. Keep them coming! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

"So, let me get this straight," Booth starts, tugging his fingers through his hair in short, frustrated motions, "we still have absolutely nothing of value to lead us to Christine?"

"There was no DNA on the jumper – other than yours and Christine's – and the photograph came up empty for prints. They must have used gloves."

Booth groans. He really thought the presents from the kidnapper would help them find their daughter, but obviously the bastard didn't want to make things quite so easy. He begins to pace the carpet in Angela's office, silent only for Hank's quiet squeaking and the occasional beep of the Angelatron as a search comes up empty. They've tried everything on this case and they just keep encountering dead end after dead end. He's about to suggest that he and Brennan go home because Hank's getting tired, when his phone rings from the back pocket of his jeans. He frowns because it's his work phone and only certain people have access to the number and even they had to be screened before hand. The caller is unknown and with unease settling in his stomach, he accepts the call on the last ring, all of the squints' eyes darting to him as he says, "hello?"

A beat. Short, heavy breathing can be heard. What sounds like a dim jangle of chains. Silence. " _Daddy?_ "

"Christine!" He all-but screams and everybody rushes to his side, Brennan closest to him, her hands encircling his arm. Quickly switching the call to speakerphone, he practically cradles the device like a lifeline. "Christine. Oh my God. Are you OK?"

" _I'm fine_ ," she says, although Booth highly doubts it, his experience telling him the kidnapper will likely be with her, showing her cards or enforcing strict rules about the things she can and can't say. For a moment, he doesn't care, relief flooding through him at just the sound of her voice. And even though she's still not completely safe, Angela's triangulating the call and it won't be long before they have a location and can hold her in their arms.

"Christine, sweetie, mommy and baby Hank are here. We all love you very much." Tears are leaking down Brennan's face and, honestly, Booth doesn't think it'll be long before he joins her.

"We miss you," Angela calls, the artist also crying.

Booth swallows and focuses on the sounds of Christine breathing. She's alive. That's the main thing. She's still alive.

" _I miss you all more,_ " she cries and _God_ , if that doesn't pull at Booth's heartstrings.

"We'll get you back, baby. I promise. We'll bring you home."

" _No_ ," comes a sharp, raised voice. A beat of silence, as if they're calming their sudden spurt of anger. Then, more controlled, " _I'm afraid you will not, Seeley._ "

"Don't call me that."

" _I'll call you what I like. I'm in control here. I am the one with your precious baby girl, after all._ "

Booth gulps, struggling to suppress his raging emotions. A quick peek at Brennan shows she is warring against her feelings just as much as she is, trying her very hardest to avoid an outburst.

The Angelatron beeps and, for the first time in this case, it's a positive thing. They have a location. They know where Christine is. The only problem is the person on the other end of the line appears to have heard the beep, too.

 _"What was that?"_

The married couple exchange silent, terrified looks. Coughing, Booth decides to be the one to speak. "Nothing, just the TV."

" _Are you at home right now, Seeley, Temperance? Although your home is quite beautiful and I expect you want to be there I don't believe you're at home_."

"You've been in his house?"

Booth thinks if he had an aneurysm, it would have burst at that moment.

" _Of course. Your bedroom is decorated quite splendidly. Who was responsible for that? You or Temperance?"_

"That's none of your damn business," he snaps, his tone sounding more confident than he feels.

" _Oh, but I believe it is. We're friends, Seeley. Friends visit each other's houses."_ The voice pauses. _"Anyway, I believe it was Temperance who decorated that house while you were incarcerated._ "

"How long have you been following us for?"

Booth watches anxiously as Angela calls the SWAT team, Hodgins, Aubrey and Cam watch _him_ , equally terrified and, as Brennan tucks Christine's former blanket around their youngest child. The blanket is the only thing that's really comforted him since Christine disappeared. Even though he's too young to understand, Boot thinks he can sense something's wrong with his family and the little boy demands the comfort only his older sister (and favourite person in the world) can supply. A message pops up on the screen from Angela:

 _1 more minute to keep him on the phone and then you, Brennan and Aubrey can leave. I've already sent the address to your car._

He nods curtly and listens to the horrible cackling sound on the other end of the line. It seems mechanic almost and he knows Brennan has noticed it too by the way she crinkles her brow. It's much more obvious through their laughter than it was when they were talking. They're changing their voice electronically; clearly something vocal wise would give the game away. His interest is piqued.

 _"Seeley, I've been watching you for a lot longer than you're aware of_."

His response is only one word. Thirty seconds before they can leave to catch this bastard. "Why?"

" _Hmm,"_ the voice appears to consider his question, the smug reply of _"not telling_ " coming through the phone after two seconds.

They're about to leave when the caller stops them short, everybody's hearts dropping into their stomachs.

" _Don't bother your pretty little face, Seeley. I know you've tracked this call and are on your way to this location. What do you take me for? This call is about to go dead and then you will never hear from me, or your daughter, again."_

And, with that, the call switches off.

 **Another cliffhanger... ;) If you have the time, please leave a review, I love reading your opinions and theories about what's going to happen next.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks so much for all your reviews! You guys are the best!**

"Clear."

"Clear here, too."

Booth sighs deeply. It's evident that there's nobody here. They've long gone and taken Christine with them. He pulls over a nearby chair and slumps in it, his head falling into his hands.

"Hey, we'll find her, Booth," Aubrey reassures him, his hand patting Booth on the shoulder. "We're smarter than this guy. Well, Dr. Brennan is. And the other squints. We'll figure this out."

"What if we don't?" He lifts his head and looks imploringly into the younger agent's eyes. "It's been a week for God's sake and we still haven't found her!"

"Booth-."

"That's my little girl, Aubrey," he says, the sadness in his voice echoing the aching in his heart. My Christine. When I… When I found out Bones was pregnant with her," he smiles a little at the memory – even if only for a second, "it was easily one of the best days of my life. It was… unexpected, to say the least. The pregnancy, I mean. Bones and I were just starting out as a couple, figuring things out and then, bam, just like that we were having a baby."

"I can't imagine Dr. Brennan dealing well with a surprise pregnancy."

"She didn't at first," he recounts, still lost in the memory of the early days of his wife's first pregnancy. She'd been terrified. Terrified something would go wrong with the pregnancy. Terrified something would go wrong in labor. Terrified she wouldn't be a good enough mother.

"That's crazy," Aubrey pipes in and Booth realises he was talking out loud.

He nods his head in agreement. "Very crazy. She's the best mother in the world." He thinks of his wife protectively cradling Christine in her arms whenever she can't sleep, holding her hands while she took her first stumbling steps across their living room, her expression of overwhelming pride on Christine's first day of school. He thinks of his wife now, a shell of her former self. It's like she's not even living, existing just enough for what Hank requires of her, reverting back to how she used to be before they became partners. Reserved. Distant. Sad.

She's waiting in the car with an agent a block away, having wanted to come in case they found Christine. Booth, however, had insisted that she didn't come inside in case it was dangerous. It wasn't, it turns out. "We should probably go tell Bones the bad news."

"Yeah," Aubrey replies distractedly, pulling back a closet door. His mouth falls open. "Booth! Booth, get over here!"

"Dammit," he curses, arriving at Aubrey's side. " _Dammit_!"

* * *

He opens the door of the FBI van, climbing inside. He sees Brennan sat in the same seat, Hank asleep in her arms; it barely looks as if she's moved since he left her.

He nods at the agent he'd assigned to stay with them, a silent thank you for protecting his family. Correction: _half_ of his family. He sits next to his wife.

"How long's he been asleep for?" Booth murmurs quietly, catching her attention. It appears she'd been so lost in Hank's cherubic face that she'd zoned out of the real world around her. Not that he can blame her. Their youngest son is ridiculously adorable.

"Ever since you went in," comes her response. She clears her throat, her eyes still fixed upon their son. "I take it she's not there."

"No." Voicing it aloud hurts him more, as if he's being burnt from the inside out by a fire that keeps spreading and spreading until this pain, this awful, never-ending pain, reaches every part of his body. It's inescapable now. From the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep, he's haunted by thoughts of what this person is doing to his daughter. Even his dreams are filled with every imaginable outcome of this situation. Most of them bad. But this is not a dream. They'd almost had her; they were so close. It's like she's been snatched from under them once again, like an old wound resurfacing. He felt sure this would be it, that this would be the moment they'd find her. His hopes had come brutally crashing down in each empty room they'd entered. There's a saying. It's the hope that kills you. Now, more than ever, he thinks that's the truth. "She's not there."

Brennan struggles to say anything for a moment; struggles against her need to cry. Eventually, "find anything worthwhile?"

"Maybe, yes. Aubrey pulled back the closet doors and found a serial killer type corkboard with pictures of all his victims attached and information about all of them, news clippings, etc. Christine was included."

"That's not good."

"No, well, it's never good when a serial killer is targeting children, Bones," he responds, earning himself a glare. "Anyway, the techs are on their way to take prints. It's likely that the killer will have taken much less care with this; if it's a project they were passionate about, they could have forgotten to wear their gloves. Plus, the bastard is probably too arrogant to think we'd ever find it."

She seems unconvinced. "Maybe."

"But, Bones, we have proof they were here. We're getting closer!" He says, desperately trying to find good news in amongst all the terror.

Brennan stays silent for several minutes, considering his words. Her eyes on Hank, she whispers, "we should begin preparing funeral plans, I think."

Booth's pretty sure his heart stops beating because, _what?_

"From our experience we know the killer will need to kill again soon. Sweets always said it was an addiction, like you with your gambling. Killing for them is compulsive; they can't go too long without the feeling of taking away somebody's life. With Christine in their midst and the need to escape their abode, it's rational to believe she would have been expendable."

" _Expendable?"_ He feels bile rise in his throat. He can't believe this. He can't believe he's hearing this, hearing his wife say this. That their daughter is _expendable_. Unimportant. It feels like a knife has been stabbed into his abdomen and is being twisted around, maximising his agony to the fullest possible extent. He wants to cry and be sick and curl up in a ball and die, but most of all, he wants Christine back. Now.

"It's a valid theory, Booth. I think we should have preparations in place."

"In case our five year old is _murdered_? Bones-."

"No, we're doing this," she argues, her eyes locking with his for the first time since he'd climbed into the van. They're deadly serious. _She's_ deadly serious… about planning a funeral for their daughter. "I need to be prepared, Booth!"

He shakes his head, tears leaking from his eyes. Wiping them away with the back of his hand is pointless as fresh ones surface moments later. "This is crazy, Bones!"

"It's perfectly reasonable to want to be ready for it if the time comes," she says, affronted. She's clearly given this some thought. Like, she's been considering this for some time. Booth feels like he's been sucker-punched. "You have your funeral planned. So do I. What's the difference?"

" _What's the difference?_ " He repeats, scoffing loudly. "Bones, she's _five_. Five years old. She's a kid – _our_ kid. And she's not even dead."

"You don't know that for sure, Booth." She's crying now, waking Hank up from his sleep.

"She was alive an hour ago!" He yells, raising his hands in the air in frustration, anger, hurt, he's not quite certain.

"A lot can change within seconds with psychopaths, Booth. She's with a psychopath! I can't keep getting my hopes up just for them to come crashing down again when this search goes nowhere. I can't! It's too painful."

"Well, to me, it sounds like you're giving up."

Her gaze is so fiery, she looks like she could kill a man.

" _How dare you_?" Hank is crying now, too, the volume and intensity of the fight between his parents distressing him greatly. Brennan instinctively bounces him up and down in an attempt to calm him. It's fruitless. If anything, his cries only get louder.

"It sounds like you're giving up on Christine, on Aubrey, on Angela, on the squints, on _me_." His voice cracks mid-sentence. "I thought you had faith in me, Bones. Don't you have faith in me to find our daughter?"

"I don't have faith in anything right now, Booth," she mumbles, standing up and lifting Hank up to her shoulder. She rests her cheek against his and rubs his back gently.

"Right. I get it." He's still angry. "Well, in that case, I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight and you can go home without me."

She's still angry, too. "Fine. I will."

" _Fine_ ," he snaps, throwing open the door and jumping out, slamming it testily behind him.

Hank's wails intensify.

Hearing a banging on the front door, Angela thinks she's dreaming. She snuggles deeper into her pillow, drifting off once again when the bangs get louder and louder, Hodgins nudging her awake. Maybe she wasn't dreaming after all.

He gets out of bed, his curly hair a mess, his dressing gown tugged on haphazardly and Angela follows behind him. As they descend the stairs and approach the front door, Angela grips onto her husband's arm. They reach the door and he unlocks it, opening it up only a crack. Hodgins lets out an audible sigh of relief – it's not a murderer – and moves out of the way so Angela can see the identities of their late night visitors.

" _Brennan_?"

"Hi, Angela," she sniffles, her face red and blotchy, Hank in her arms, bags at her feet. "Can I stay the night with you?"

 **I think you should leave a review, I'd really appreciate it. :-)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Angela and Hodgins to the rescue!**

"I'm sorry for intruding last night, Angela. I just," she pauses, nursing her cup of coffee between her hands. "Being in that house… alone… it just didn't feel right."

Angela purses her lips as she sits on the opposite sofa to Brennan, her heart breaking for her best friend. She wishes there were something beneficial she could do to bring Christine home, but all they can do right now is sit and wait. And give her best friend a shoulder to cry on. "Hey, it's OK, sweetie. That's what I'm here for. Plus, you're always welcome here. You know that."

Brennan takes a small sip of the scolding coffee, then lets out a sigh. "Booth and I… We had an argument."

"I thought it might be something like that."

Brennan nods, then glances down at the mug in her hand. She's been replaying said argument over and over in her head ever since it happened and she can't help but feel she was the one in the wrong. They're both heartbroken and lashing out at each other was just due to the immense stress they're under, but she knows she shouldn't have suggested planning Christine's funeral; Booth's too fragile right now. She doesn't even know why she did it – it just, it came out. She hates it when Booth's hurt because it hurts her too, but being the _cause_ of Booth's pain? The guilty feeling spreading through her chest has kept her from sleeping all night and is the reason why she came to Angela in the first place. Finally, her eyes still downcast, she murmurs, "I feel guilty, Angela."

She feels the couch dip as her best friend comes to sit next to her and a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She almost misses the quiet "why?" that leaves the artist's lips.

"I-I told him we should start planning Christine's funeral."

She doesn't need to look at Angela to know her reaction; the sharp intake of breath is suffice.

"You did _what_?"

"There was a high chance of her being dead _before_ the call, Angela! Then afterwards, they could have killed Christine in order to facilitate their escape! And- and they said we'd never see her again and-."

"I know, but she's your _daughter_ , Brennan. And Booth's," Angela says softly, her hand squeezing Brennan's shoulder in support so she knows she's not blaming her. "This situation is hard enough right now without thinking about her being dead, let alone preparing for the worst."

"But I'm always prepared, Angela! It's what I pride myself upon. Other than my superior intelligence, of course."

"Of course. You don't need to prepare for this though. My goddaughter – your precious baby girl – is strong. She's alive, Brennan. I know it."

"How can you possibly know?" She asks, her eyes glassing over.

"It's just a gut feeling. Hey, hear me out," she says quickly at Brennan's protestations. "Booth's gut is always right, isn't it? Why can't mine be too?"

Tears are freely running down the anthropologist's cheeks now and Angela embraces her tightly. "Because Christine's with a psychopath, Angela. Nothing is certain," she blubbers, her face pressed against Angela's shoulder.

"You're right. We've worked with people like this long enough to know that nothing is a guarantee, but I don't think killing Christine is this guy's endgame. Sorry," she murmurs gently when Brennan lets out a loud, uncontrollable sob at hearing "killing" and "Christine" placed side by side in a sentence. "They're lonely, right?"

"That's what they said in the letter."

"Right, so up to this point they've been trying to find _the one_ , the child that satisfies them and takes away their loneliness. None of the previous victims, bless their souls, have been this killer's idea of "perfection", so they've killed them. Got it?"

Brennan sits up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "And you think Christine's what they've been searching for."

"I do and that's why they're not going to kill her. They just don't plan on giving her back."

In a rare insecure moment, Brennan asks if Angela thinks they'll ever get Christine back.

The artist lets out a shallow breath, takes Brennan's hand in hers and says, "yeah, I think we will."

"Hey."

Both Brennan and Angela turn as they hear Hodgins' voice from behind them. Brennan releases her best friend's hand and stands up, walking around to Hodgins and taking a post-nap Hank from his arms.

"Hey there, buddy. Did you have a good nap? Did you, huh?" He coos a little and her hold on him tightens. She presses a kiss to his downy hair. "I love you so much, Hank. I hope you know that."

"He does," Angela pipes in. "You're an amazing mother."

Tearing her eyes away from her little boy, she shoots a shy smile in Angela's direction. Then, glancing at Hodgins, she apologises again for interrupting their rare family time.

He simply waves it off. "It's nothing, Dr. B. You're going through a hard time right now and we're all family, right? Family sticks together."

" _Family sticks together_ ," Brennan whispers, her thoughts drifting to Booth.

He needs her.

She needs him.

And she'd kicked him out, all alone, when he's at his most vulnerable.

Suddenly realising what she needs to do, she hands Hank to Angela, cupping his cheeks, before walking to the front door. She needs to find her husband, apologise, and then find their daughter.

Opening the door, she nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees Booth stood there in the crumpled t-shirt he'd worn the day before, an unshaved face, and his fist raised, about to knock on the front door.

"Hi," he says, his tone somewhat apprehensive.

"Hi," she replies in a similar tone. "We need to talk."

He nods his agreement. "Yes, we do, but first-." He wraps his arms fully around her and tugs her towards him, nestling his face in her shoulder. Brennan reciprocates easily, feeling tears re-surface as she lets her husband engulf her in a tight hug and, if Booth's body shaking is anything to go by, he's crying, too. She squeezes him tighter and thinks about how she never, ever wants to let go, how she just wants to stay like this – in the safety of his protective hold – forever.

 **B &B heart-to-heart coming next chapter. Until then, maybe you could leave a review? :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, I really appreciate them. :)**

Opening her eyes groggily, Christine glances around her cell. She hasn't been provided with much. A lumpy bed, a threadbare comforter and an old stuffed bunny with one missing ear and a nasty smell. Tears begin to roll down her cheeks as she thinks of her own bedroom back home. Her mommy and Uncle Sweets had decorated it when the evil people took her daddy away. It's her favourite room in the house; she has a big girl's bed, a huge closet filled with her favourite books, toys and outfits and _her_ stuffed animals don't smell disgusting. It's much warmer in her house, too. This cell is colder – colder than the last place they stayed in, which is saying something. She thinks they're underground, that's why it's so cold. She'd tried to remain conscious after the phone call with her parents, stay alert as her captor sped away. She remembers, after about a twenty minute car journey, she'd been swept out of her car seat and hurried down three flights of stairs before being locked in her new hell.

She scrubs away her tears with the back of her hand as her thoughts drift from her room to thoughts of her parents and her brothers. She misses them _so much._ She knows her parents are searching for her – her daddy promised he'd bring her home. But what if he can't keep that promise? What if she never sees her family again? Never sees Grandpa, or Parker, or Hank, or Angela or Michael Vincent, or… Her heart sinks in her chest. _Mummy and daddy._

She's suddenly alert as a heavy set of boots come marching down the staircase, a pair of high heels following them. She can hear their footsteps loudly; they must be angry. Then the voices enter Christine's range of hearing and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut, pretending to be asleep. They don't talk to her when she's asleep. She listens closely as the two furious partners argue.

"You _can't_ -."

"I can and I will. You're not the boss of me."

"I am!" She shrieks and Christine winces at the proximity of the high-pitched sound. They're right outside of her cell. She makes sure to lie as still as possible and lets out a sigh of relief as the footsteps walk away. "Get back here!"

"No. _No_ ," the man yells heatedly. "I've had enough of all this. This isn't right. She has a _family_."

"Yes, me."

"No, not you." He sounds exasperated and Christine can imagine his rough, wrinkled skin pinching to form the lines on his forehead. He sighs, his voice softening. "I know you miss Evie, but this isn't the solution."

"It is! Don't you see? Lauren is the perfect replacement!"

Christine shudders. She hates that name. Lauren. _That's not my name!_ she wants to shout every time she hears it. _I'm Christine! Christine Angela Booth!_

"That's not her name and you know it."

"Well, it's her name now and it's here to stay, just like her," her tone lowers maliciously and Christine imagines her lip curling in the way it does, "so do _not_ say anything to the police. Or you'll be joining the other girls. Got it?"

There's a long pause, then a reluctant sigh. "Got it."

"Good." She brightens up. "Now, hurry, you need to get back to work. We can't have Lauren being an only child now, can we?"

* * *

They hadn't wanted to waste time going back and forth between houses, so Angela and Hodgins said they could talk in their spare bedroom. They'd look after Hank and give the distressed couple some much-needed privacy.

"First of all, I need to apologise," Brennan begins as they sit opposite each other on the bed. Her eyes are fixed on Booth's, so he knows she means it. "What I said was-." She shakes her head. "Completely uncalled for. I can understand why you were mad at me."

"I accept your apology," he replies maturely because he thinks that's what's necessary in order for this conversation to progress productively. "But, Bones, you have to know, I was never mad at _you_. I was furious at the situation, the lack of evidence, the son of a bitch who has our daughter, but never, never you."

"Really? But I thought-."

"It's a stressful time right now. I took my frustration out on you." He scrapes his fingers through his already dishevelled hair. "It's an unfortunate trait I've developed from my dad."

Now she's angry. "No, _no_ , Booth, don't you _dare_. You are _nothing_ like your father."

"Former soldier, addict, I ditched you and Hank, I got angry…"

" _And?_ You came back. You apologised. You knew you made a mistake and it ate away at you. You're excellent with our children… And with me. I know how much you love us all and would do anything to protect us. In my book, that makes you the complete opposite to your father."

He surges towards her, catching her lips in a passionate kiss in lieu of any response. The outpouring love as they clutch on to each other says what words cannot.

When they finally let go, he cups her cheek. "I love you so much, Temperance."

"I love you more," she promises, pressing a few light kisses to his lips, unable to resist. "So don't compare yourself to him again, you hear me? I know you better than anybody and I can guarantee you're a good man, Booth. The best."

He nods lamely, his throat tight, unable to form words, so moved by this woman, this woman he absolutely adores and doesn't know what he'd do without.

"However, I do think we need to discuss the consequences if the… outcome of this investigation is not what we want."

"If Christine dies," he puts in Layman's terms, a sick feeling welling in his stomach.

"Yes. I was talking with Angela and-."

"Of course you were. You and Angela never stop talking," he interrupts teasingly, pleased when a small smile flickers on to her face.

"Shush, _Seeley._ This is important. Angela made me realise that it's too soon for you – and me, deep down – to prepare for our daughter's death, with a funeral and such. _But_ we can at least discuss what would happen if the worst _did_ occur, right? No specifics involved."

Booth takes a deep breath. As much as he hates this, he knows he has to do this for his wife, for the sake of their marriage. "OK. We'll discuss."

She picks up his left hand and begins to trace her fingers along the back of it. "If we lose her, I'll need my work more than ever. I'll need to spend all day at the lab and a lot of the weekend, too."

"Bones-." His voice is strangled. The thought of her regressing to the detached scientist she was when he first met her and when they first started working together, it kills him a little bit. She's so much happier than she used to be; he doesn't want her to lose that.

Her fingers follow his phalanges, then pass over the gold band that sits on his ring finger. She pauses and her finger returns to touch the token of their marriage. The circle shape, signifying that their love will be eternal. She remembers the day she'd placed it on his finger. The best day of her life. The happiest she can ever remember being. The moment they'd exchanged vows and promised to love each other for the rest of their lives. She swallows and starts to voice the real fear that's been bothering her, aside from their daughter dying, of course. "Booth, will you still love me if we lose Christine and I have to bury myself in my work? Will you still want to be my husband?"

"Bones…" He whispers, wiping away the tears she didn't even realise had fallen with the pad of his thumb. "How could you think I could _ever_ stop loving you? I'm so far gone on you – have been since the moment I first laid my eyes on you – I could never, ever leave you. No matter what. You're stuck with me, baby."

She hugs him tightly, unable to form a response. She squeezes him close and cries into his shoulder as he gently rubs her back, soothing her sadness.

Just then, the door opens a fraction and Booth glances over to see Angela peeking through the gap, an apprehensive expression on her face.

"Come on in, Ange," he says softly, pressing a few stray kisses to Brennan's hair and protectively pulling her closer.

"Are you…"

Booth catches her insinuation and nods. The message is clear. _We'll be fine. We always are._

Angela sits next to Brennan and caresses the small of her back. Her eyes meet Booth's concerned ones. "Aubrey is on the phone. He says he needs to talk to you urgently about the case but wouldn't tell me what."

"OK. You look after Bones." He reluctantly pries himself away from his wife and quietly leaves the room. He pauses at the doorframe and turns back to watch Brennan for a split second. The way she's desperately clutching on to Angela tugs on his heart strings, but he forces himself to go downstairs to where Hodgins is angrily questioning the person on the other end of the line. Booth assumes it's Aubrey and takes the phone from bug boy.

" _Booth, thank God you're there. Apologise to Hodgins and Angela for me – I'm just. Not allowed to tell them yet. Well, truth be told, I don't want to. Not before I tell you because, well, this case is related to your child and-."_

"Spit it out, Aubrey," he says, not meaning to sound so blunt, but, y'anno. His family is in tatters here.

" _There's this guy in the interrogation room right now. He looks really freaked out."_

"What? Why? What does this have to do with Christine?"

" _He claims he has her, Booth. You and Dr. B need to get here, STAT."_

 **Let me know what you think. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

Entering the interrogation room, Aubrey puts on his most intimidating expression and drops the manila file to the table with a thud.

"You have a lot of intel on me there, Agent Aubrey."

"Yeah, well, that's my job. Investigating people, crimes. And you, my friend, seem to be involved in a lot of them," Aubrey says as he sits down across from the man who'd turned himself in and opens the folder. Before he reads the information there, he decides to take a good look at the suspect before him. He looks like a typical "guys guy": he's wearing a t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his impressive musculature, his eyes are dark, menacing and his closed off body language reads " _do not mess with me_." From his appearance alone, Aubrey would not put these murders past him. He begins to read the file. "Ricky Taylor, 49. Spent most of your teenage years in and out of police stations. Petty theft, public disturbances… It says here that you killed your brother's puppy. That correct?"

"Yep. But what's that got to do with this missing kid?"

"Serial murderers often begin small, with animals, for example. A puppy would fit inside that theory, wouldn't you say?"

"That's smart, Agent Aubrey," the man compliments snidely, a smirk on his face. The freaked out aura that he'd given off when he had first arrived at the Hoover Building is dissipating with every second he sits in the interrogation room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his expression smug. "I never admitted to killing anybody though, did I?"

"No, but by admitting you have Christine, you've implied you're responsible for killing the other six victims, since we have evidence the cases are connected."

Taylor leans back in his chair. "OK, I'll bite. What do you know abut me now that makes you think I'm a psycho killer?"

"Lots of things," Aubrey begins, flicking to the next page of the document. "You're a builder for Carlton Constructions. Your company was working at or near all of the abduction sites, giving you opportunity to stalk your victims without looking out of place and being caught."

"Fine. You have opportunity. I watch a lot of TV and I know you need means and motive before you can make an arrest, so go on," he taunts, a malicious glint in his eyes, "prove how _special_ of an agent you really are."

"First of all, by turning yourself in, you confessed, meaning I could arrest you here and now if I wanted to."

"Then why don't you?" He challenges.

Aubrey narrows his eyes at the dark-haired man before him. "Because right now, finding Christine is my priority and since she's not with you, I believe you either have a partner, or you're lying to me."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Our lead profiler summated that this killer needs to feel in control at all times and would not easily relinquish that control."

He raises his dark brown, unkempt eyebrows. "So?"

"Coming here without Christine? That means you're lying or you have a partner because this killer would not leave her alone at any cost. So which is it, _Ricky_? You telling the truth?"

" _Yes_ ," he snarls, surging forwards in his chair so he's only inches away from Aubrey. "Make no mistake. I have this girl you're looking for. Why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know, maybe to protect your partner who's actually the one in charge," Aubrey theorises.

"And who's this imaginary partner you've created?"

"I don't know, your wife, maybe." The agent watches closely as the man's expression changes; the shift is so minor it's barely distinguishable, but Aubrey has been trained to notice these things. Mentioning his wife bothers him. Aubrey presses onwards. "My team suspects this killer has been trying to find a substitute for a child they lost. The previous girls weren't quite right, so we believe they were killed, but Christine… This killer likes Christine. She's the perfect replacement. Your wife had a still birth five months ago, just before the first victim was taken, right? Doesn't that sound like a good enough motive to you?"

His face contorts with anger. " _My wife didn't do this_!"

Now is Aubrey's turn to lean forward, his glare fiery. "Then who did, Ricky?"

"I can't tell you." For the first time since he entered the interrogation room, the suspect seems to concede, his alpha male façade crumbling away. "She said she'd kill me, too. Just like the other girls."

" _She_?" Aubrey's eyes widen. "The killer is a _woman_?"

"Well done, Sherlock," Ricky answers sarcastically.

"All right. You might want to be a little more respectful here, Mr Taylor. I can arrest you for obstruction of justice if you don't give me the name of this killer _right now_."

"Aubrey!"

The agent's head turns in shock as his partner come mentor barrels into the room, his wife only one step behind him. The door slams shut after them as Booth stops, panting, his eyes fixing upon one Ricky Taylor.

"This is the guy?" Booth asks, his glare never leaving the man who has his daughter for a second, even though the question is clearly directed at Aubrey.

"If by 'the guy' you mean _me_ , then, yes," Ricky replies smugly, holding out his hand for Booth to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, very special agent Seeley Booth."

"Shut up," Booth orders, his voice rising furiously as he smacks the cocky son of a bitch's hand away. "Aubrey?"

"Ricky Taylor works at Carlton Constructions, he could have easily carried out the abduction, but he's not the brains of the organisation. He says the killer is a woman and that she'll kill him if he gives her or Christine's location up."

"She also said she'd kill me if I came to the police so I'm _literally_ risking my life by talking to you guys," he adds unhelpfully, only serving to fuel Booth's anger.

"I told you to shut up," Booth barks. He jerks his head to the corner of the room where he, Brennan and Aubrey convene. "I thought that profiler said we were looking for a guy. This whole time, that's where our investigation has been leading us."

"This is why I hate psychology," Brennan murmurs in hushed tones.

"We haven't even factored a female killer into the equation because of her conclusions."

"I thought she was supposed to be the best the BAU had to offer."

"She was," Aubrey asserts. "You don't think… she was purposely veering this investigation off course, do you?"

Booth thinks seriously about the question for a moment as all of his meetings with Aline Dunn come flooding back to his mind. She _had_ seemed overly interested in him when he saw her at the gym, which would make sense if she had Christine this whole time. And he's often seen cases where killers insert themselves into investigations in order to see how close they are to being caught, bask in the attention of their kills or, as would seem to be the case here, distract the authorities from the real killer – them, her, Aline Dunn.

"It's logical," Brennan says and Booth has to agree with his wife; Dr. Dunn's behaviour has been fishy.

"So, what now? We start investigating Dr. Aline Dunn as our primary suspect?"

"Sorry, what did you just say?"

All eyes flick to Ricky Taylor at his interruption, clearly having overheard their _private_ conversation.

"That we've found our primary suspect," Brennan replies suspiciously. "Why is that surprising to you? Myself and my team are excellent at solving crimes."

"Your suspect is Dr. Aline Dunn? Not me?" His skin has become ghostly pale.

Booth, Brennan and Aubrey share a look of confusion.

Aubrey steps forward, one hand in his pocket. "She's an FBI profiler. You know her?"

"Y-yeah, yeah. She's the killer. She's the one who abducted the missing kid – Christine."

 **So there we have it! Who guessed correctly?**

 **Leave a review below if you liked this chapter, the next few are going to get** ** _very_** **intense. ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**First of all, I want to thank you so much for passing 100 reviews! Waking up to that this morning put a** ** _massive_** **smile on my face. I appreciate every single one of you who's read/reviewed/favourited/followed this story – you're the best and the thing you're all waiting for is going to happen** ** _very_** **soon. I promise. Now for chapter 14…**

 _"Y-yeah, yeah. She's the killer. She's the one who abducted the missing kid - Christine."_

There are a couple of moments of stunned silence before Booth breaks it, desperation seeping through his voice. "Where is she?"

"I've already said too much," he responds, panicking. "She'll kill me."

Booth lunges at the builder, his eyes lit with anger. Grabbing Taylor by the scruff of his neck, he pins the man against the wall and repeats himself. "Where. Is. She?"

"I _told_ you I can't-."

"Like hell you can't," Booth yells, getting right up in the man's face. "Tell me _now_."

"She'll kill me. She'll kill my wife."

" _Yeah_? She'll kill my innocent five-year-old daughter. I think mine trumps yours."

Taylor shakes his head in defeat. "Look, man, I wish I could-."

"Our daughter – Christine – she's done nothing wrong," Brennan pleads, stepping towards the table where Taylor sits. She knows that talking about your life makes criminals emphasise and submit to your will and, honestly, at this point she's willing to try anything to bring Christine back. "She's really smart. She comes home and reads to her baby brother and even though he doesn't understand a thing, he always gurgles happily because he loves being with Christine and it puts this big, adorable smile on her face-." Her voice quivers as tears stream down her cheeks, but she fights on regardless. She needs to break through to him. She needs her daughter to come home. "Christine loves being a big sister. She draws pictures for our son all the time and has sleepovers where she just lies in front of his crib so she's close to him. She's an amazing child. She's kind, funny, so happy and positive all the time. And she's innocent here. For whatever reason, Aline Dunn feels lonely enough to abduct _my_ child and kill countless others. Mr Taylor, please, I'm lonely without my child and I know Booth and the other victims' parents feel the same way. If you lead us to Aline Dunn - to my Christine - we'll make sure you and your family are protected from harm. Now, _please_ , I'm begging you, let me protect my family, too."

He glances at Booth, who's loosened his hold on the man during Brennan's emotional plea. "Persuasive," is all he manages to say.

"Yeah, well, she's a best selling author," Booth boasts proudly in a way only a husband can about his wife. "So will you tell us?"

His eyes move from a sobbing Brennan, to an anxious Aubrey and back to a desperate Booth. "Fine. She's keeping her in the basement of an abandoned warehouse."

" _Address_ ," Booth demands fiercely.

* * *

"Booth, please, wait for the SWAT team," Brennan implores, hurrying after him as he and Aubrey both head for the elevator, determined expressions on their faces.

"We don't have time, Bones. We need to go get her."

"What if this is just a hoax? What if Taylor is sending you out there to get killed? This is reckless, Booth. You promised me you wouldn't be reckless."

He stops her, his hand on her forearm. "Bones, I need to do this. I need to bring Christine home. I can't wait around for some SWAT team when me and Aubrey are perfectly capable of carrying this out alone."

"But I need you to come home. _Alive,"_ Brennan argues.

"And I will." He kisses her and Aubrey is forced to look away awkwardly when Brennan snakes her arms around her husband, deepening the kiss.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Booth," she mumbles, her lips hitting his as she talks.

"You, _Temperance Brennan_ , have a gut feeling?" He gasps dramatically in surprise and she lightly slaps him on the back of his head. "Are you feeling OK?"

"I'm being serious," she stresses.

"I know." He kisses her firmly. "So am I. Now wait here, I'll call you when I have our daughter. Come on Aubrey, let's move."

Brennan watches helplessly as the two agents enter the elevator and disappear from her view as the metal doors close, a feeling of unease settling in her stomach.

* * *

"This place is creepy as hell," Aubrey comments as Booth's black SUV pulls up outside the warehouse Ricky Taylor had directed them to before they'd handcuffed him and had him taken away.

"I second that."

The warehouse that looms before them ominously is dilapidated, the windows smashed, tags grafittied all over the walls, an eerie silence around them.

"I can't believe Christine has stayed here. She must be terrified."

Aubrey pats him on the shoulder supportively. "We'll get her, Booth."

"Let's do that then," he commands. "Let's get her."

They're already wearing their bullet proof vests so they just have to grab their guns from the trunk before stealthily making their way towards the warehouse entrance closest to them. They try the door. Open. They speed inside, closing the door quietly behind them, not wanting to alert a potentially armed Aline Dunn to their presence. Guns cocked, they scan the room.

"Clear."

"Alright, Aubrey, you go left, I'll go right. We'll meet back in ten minutes. Got it?" Booth whispers.

The younger agent nods and heads off in the direction his partner had told him to go, his eyes everywhere as he tries to locate their killer or, preferably, Christine.

His heart rate increases as he thinks he hears footsteps behind him and begins to panic. _The academy always told us to stay as a group and we haven't and now I'm going to be picked off and murdered_ , he worries internally. Then, _Aubrey, focus_. He does a 180 degree turn, checks the area behind him. Clear.

Fear is coursing through his veins as he continues onwards. A staircase leading down to a basement level comes into view. _Christine!_ He almost shouts. _That's where she's keeping Christine!_ He surges forwards and is about to descend the stairs when he hears the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

He turns back, adrenaline taking over. He thinks: _Booth, Christine_ and wants to throw up at the prospect of losing either of them.

He rounds a corner and has to do a double take. Dr. Brennan is lying before him, her hands clutching her abdomen as a dark patch of blood pools on her blouse.

Aubrey races towards her and helps drag her to a sheltered location behind a shelving unit. _We should be safe here_.

"Dr. Brennan, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I told Booth it was too dangerous," she groans, obviously in pain. "Aubrey, it hurts-."

"I know, Dr. B." He applies pressure, making her wince. "I'm sorry. I have to do this. I have to keep the pressure on. Stay with me, Dr. B. Stay with me."

Her eyes slip shut. "Bo-oth."

"He'll be here any second. You want to see him, right? Stay awake so you can see him."

Her eyes reopen as she fights hard against the pain searing through her body. "Tell- tell Booth I love him."

"Dr. Brennan," he pleads as her eyes close once again and her body goes stiff. He can't be present for another one of Booth's favourite people dying. He just can't. "Dr. Brennan," he calls, shaking her shoulders in desperation. "Stay with me."

Aubrey hears footsteps pounding against the concrete floor and seizes his gun, training it in the direction of the sound.

"Don't shoot!"

 _Booth_.

Aubrey lets out a breath of relief and sets down the weapon. His partner comes into sight seconds later, his face falling as he sees his wife on the ground, clearly shot.

Aubrey feels moisture build behind his eyes as he watches Booth sink to his knees beside his wife.

"I found her like this, Booth. I'm so sorry. She's losing blood fast."

 _ **Sorry?**_

 **Lemme know what you think! :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**I've seen quite a few reviews concerned about me killing off characters in this story and I can absolutely assure you that would NEVER happen. I love Booth and Brennan and their adorable little family way too much to ever kill any of them off. No matter what happens they're not going to die, don't worry about it.**

 **Anyway,**

The ambulance ride to the hospital is a complete whirlwind.

Booth sits next to Brennan's gurney with her hand in his, while trying to keep out of the way of the medics as they work to save his wife. He hears them shouting all this medical jargon, but he doesn't _really_ hear it - a rushing sound in his ears - and he certainly doesn't understand any of it. All he understands is that she's rapidly losing blood and her situation is highly unstable. In some ways he thinks it's a good thing because he doesn't have to know the extent of the pain and suffering his wife is going through, but then again, he doesn't know whether he could lose her at any minute, which would send him completely over the edge on which he's so precariously stood.

His thoughts are interrupted by the ambulance stopping abruptly and the doors being thrown open. He watches, dumbstruck, as a team of doctors in scrubs and white coats help Brennan out of the vehicle and hastily wheel her gurney into the emergency room and towards the nearest available OR.

He races to catch up with them, his heart hammering in his chest as they shut the door in front of him and he watches them begin the emergency operation on her from through the window. A nurse sees him, grabs him by the shoulders and leads him away to the waiting room. He allows her to do so easily, feeling too numb to fight against it, despite the fact he desperately wants to be with his Bones. He slumps into the closest chair, his head dropping into his hands as he – for the second time – waits for the love of his life to come out of surgery she's having because of a gunshot wound.

He prays and prays and prays she'll make it because, truth be told, he doesn't think he can survive without her and he definitely doesn't want to have to find out.

The next thing he knows, his friends and family are rushing into the waiting room, all wearing stricken expressions that he's sure mirror his own. Angela reaches him first. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't need to, she simply embraces him tightly. While he would normally resist, he lets her hug him and allows the rest of the team, too, when Angela finally lets go. When Max approaches him, pushing little Hank in his stroller, Booth breaks down and Max wraps his arms supportively around his son-in-law, holding him up so he doesn't collapse to the ground. They haven't always got along, but, joined by their unconditional love of Brennan, their complicated past is totally forgotten as the older man comforts the distraught younger one.

"Any updates, son?" Max asks, trying to retain his own tears as Booth sobs openly.

"Nothing." He wipes haphazardly at his face and lifts his head. "Cam, can you-."

"Sure. I'm on it." He watches as she leaves to go get some information and lowers his head once again.

"I can't lose Bones as well," he says brokenly.

"You won't." Aubrey.

"Yeah, Dr. B is, like, the most stubborn person I know. She's not gonna let a small inconvenience like being shot get in her way. Come on, man."

Booth lets out a tearful chuckle at Hodgins' words then sobers. "But what if-."

"No what ifs. She's going to make it," Arastoo reminds him, his voice full of a certainty that Booth doesn't have.

"She has to." Angela.

"She will. Thanks to Aubrey here. If he hadn't found her when he did, who knows what could have happened. You saved my daughter, son." Max gives him a grateful smile and Aubrey blushes bashfully, not used to taking credit for being the hero.

"I didn't get to save your granddaughter though," he responds and, if possible, the atmosphere becomes even more somber.

" _Christine!_ " Booth's eyes widen and he looks the most terrified the team have probably seen him, like, ever. "I need to go find her."

"No, Booth. You need to be here for Brennan. SWAT is sweeping the warehouse now. If Christine is there, they'll find her."

"I promised Bones that I would bring Christine home today and now-."

"Seeley?" Cam calls, walking back towards the group. Booth doesn't know whether to feel relief at the fact the anxiety has vanished from her eyes or not. "Brennan is out of surgery," she says once she's closer and Booth lets out an audible sigh, the stress that's been increasing and increasing finally disappearing in an instantaneous release.

"Is she all right?" Max demands because his daughter's husband doesn't really seem able to talk right now.

"She's stable and she should be waking up soon if you want to go in there first, Booth."

"Right. Yeah. Sure." He gets up and heads towards room 307 with very little protest.

Back in the waiting room, the occupants look marginally less concerned now they know Brennan's life is in the clear, however the high stakes of this case have clearly taken their toll on each and every one of them. Angela's eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. Hodgins and Cam have deep bags below their eyes thanks to the many all-nighters they've done during the search for even the tiniest forensic clue that will lead them to Christine. Aubrey still looks shell-shocked, well and truly shaken up by the events at the warehouse. Arastoo (who'd been called in to cover for Brennan) is wearing a guilty expression on his face that his thorough examinations of the six victims' skeletons haven't led to any new developments on the case. While Max's face is still full of fear about how close (again!) he'd come to losing his daughter as he watches his grandson sleep peacefully, obliviously. He's also terrified that, after all this time, they still have not found Christine.

* * *

"Booth?"

He glances upwards as he hears her unusually groggy voice.

"Bones!" He's next to her bed in seconds, his hand already seeking hers. "Are you OK?"

"Sore, but mostly all right. What happened?"

"Aline Dunn shot you is what happened."

"Have you-."

He shakes his head, the end of the question going unspoken. He doesn't need her to finish to know what she was going to ask. _Have you found Christine_? "We didn't have time to continue searching after you were shot and when SWAT swept the warehouse afterwards they couldn't find anyone. No Dunn. No Christine."

Brennan visibly deflates and it causes his heart to ache; he wishes he could have given her better news to wake up to.

"However, we are on the right track," he says and is glad when he registers some interest reappear in his wife's eyes. "SWAT found some kids toys and a supply of pyjamas and blankets, the same brand as those found on the other victims. It's definitely her, Bones. We're getting closer."

"Not close enough though," she sighs.

He feels his temper raise uncontrollably, like magma bubbling in a volcano, the pressure building just before it erupts. And does he ever erupt. "Well, you know, Bones, we probably would have reached Christine if you hadn't gone out there and got yourself shot!"

" _Got_ _ **myself**_ _shot_?" She repeats incredulously. "It's not my fault Dunn shot me!"

"It was too dangerous for you! And you were unarmed! And I wasn't with you! Either Aubrey or I are _always_ supposed to be with you – it's Bureau protocol. You can't just be running into crime scenes with no back-up!"

"No back-up? _You're_ the one who burst in there without SWAT. I needed to know you were OK."

"And I needed you to stay at the lab where it's safer," he argues.

"I've been shot at the lab before. Remember?"

He closes his eyes, wincing. He does _not_ need reminding of the time the woman he loves flatlined. Twice.

"Sorry," she murmurs, noticing his discomfort.

"It's OK. I- I'm sorry I got mad." He releases a deep breath. "I just –. It's my job to protect you, as your partner and as your husband. So when you get hurt like this, it just-. It destroys me."

"I hate when you're injured, too, Booth." She squeezes his hand supportively and he brings their joined hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to the back of hers. "Are we friends again?"

A tender smile breaks out onto his face. "Always."

They're too busy smiling at each other adoringly after their brief spat is over to notice Angela appearing in the doorway of Brennan's hospital room. She clears her throat and the couple's locked gazes separate, their eyes flicking to the artist.

"I just wanted to see how my ever-beautiful best friend was doing," she says, walking to the other side of Brennan's bed.

"Thanks, Ange, but I definitely don't look beautiful right now."

Booth and Angela scoff almost simultaneously.

"Bones, you're the most gorgeous woman on the planet. I've never seen you _not_ look mind-blowingly amazing and I've seen you in labor. Two times," he asserts because he can't have her thinks she's unattractive; she's _perfect_ in his eyes, even while in hospital after being shot.

Angela nods her agreement. "Good husband."

"He is, isn't he?" Brenan smiles sweetly at Booth as he gives her his signature charm smile, leaning forward to plant a loving kiss on her lips.

"OK, OK, enough of that, lovebirds. I need to get back to the Jeffersonian. Give me updates."

"The surgery went better than expected, the bullet has been removed and has already been sent to ballistics. She'll make a full recovery. They just want her to stay here for a few days while her body is still fragile so she can _rest_."

Angela rolls her eyes. "Good look with getting this one to actually take a break."

"Thanks, I'm going to need it," Booth chuckles, dodging his wife's schoolteacher glare. "Is that all? 'Cos I want to spend some time with my wife now. Plus, you need to get to work on Aline Dunn's background checks."

"Kicking me out, Booth?" She says, her tone teasing and playful. " _Really_?"

"Yes," he deadpans.

"OK, I'll leave in one minute. Just one thing; I have a special visitor here who's just woken up from his nap and misses his mommy."

She kisses Brennan's cheek before she leaves and Booth helps adjust Brennan's pillows so she can sit up slightly as she eagerly anticipates the arrival of their youngest son. He enters moments later, positioned on Max's hip and Brennan positively _beams_ when she sees him.

"Hank! Oh, I've missed you, baby. Give him to me, dad."

Max eyes her bandages warily then glances questioningly at Booth.

"He'll be fine as long as he keeps away from her wound," Booth justifies, not wanting to keep the mother and son apart for longer than necessary. He knows Brennan thought she was dying (Aubrey told him she said goodbye) and didn't ever think she'd get to be with her little mommy's boy again. He steals Hank from Max's hold and places him on the bed next to Brennan, who immediately cuddles him as best as she can, considering her bandages and all the wires and tubes attached to her.

"Hey there, little guy," she whispers, kissing the top of his head. "I missed you. Did you miss mommy? Did you, huh?"

He gurgles happily, his pudgy fingers playing with the ends of Brennan's hair.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says, grinning at Hank and luxuriating in the comforting feel of having him in her arms.

"Of course he missed you," Booth chimes in, tickling Hank's sock-clad feet. "How could he not? Lucky little guy has the best mom in the entire world."

"You bet he does." Max smiles softly at Brennan and Hank, catching Booth's eye. They both know they're thinking the exact same thing: _how frickin' adorable are Brennan and Hank?_

* * *

"So this is Dunn's laptop?" Hodgins questions, entering his wife's office and spotting the device hooked up to all kinds of equipment as Angela tries to extract any information about their killer that they can.

"Yep. SWAT recovered it from the warehouse where she was keeping Christine and right now I'm trying to see if there's any evidence that she's behind the murders. If there are pictures or anything." She presses a bunch of buttons on her console, Dunn's files coming up empty. She probably wiped them clean, Angela thinks bitterly.

"Internet history?" Hodgins suggests.

"Ooh, good idea!" A few moments later, the history of every website Aline Dunn has ever visited is displayed on the Angelatron's screen. There's hundreds of thousands of results. "OK, so to narrow it down, I'll filter the websites which mention murder, abduction, kidnapping and children."

"Seems like a good start to me."

Angela smiles at her husband as the Angelatron works its magic and picks out the only websites pertaining to the case. Her compute beeps and she refocuses on the screen.

"She appears to have visited this site a lot," Angela notes, reading the URL their suspect typed in almost weekly. "It's about how to commit the perfect murder. Oh, God."

"And look at that one," the entomologist points out a website near the bottom of the list, "information about past child abductions. She could have really done this."

"Looks like it." Angela's face is filled with horror as she scrolls down, finding more and more incriminating evidence against Dunn. Spanning back to around to years ago, Angela discovers a particularly interesting result. "She was visiting a forum about how to deal with the loss of a child."

"So, what, she's taking these kids to compensate for the one she lost? That's messed up."

"Even more messed up is the violent way she killed these poor girls and worked these cases, worked with Booth and Brennan," Angela says, feeling more than a little sick. She'd never actually met Dunn but, from what her friends had told her, she seemed like a totally regular, normal person. Her dad always used to chastise her when she was young for being too judgemental; he'd always say: "never judge a book by its cover, Pookie" and she guesses that really is the case here.

"You should take a look into her history, see if you can find proof of her child dying anywhere. Maybe that will even lead you to the place she's hiding."

"I wi-."

"Auntie Angela?"

Angela turns suddenly at the small, yet familiar voice and almost collapses when she sees Booth and Brennan's precious daughter stood at the entrance to her office.

" _Christine?_ Oh my God. Christine!" She rushes towards the five year old and lifts her into her arms. She presses a dozen kisses to Christine's straggled hair, dampening it with her tears.

"Where's my mommy?" Christine asks the two emotional adults timidly, her chin quivering. "I went to her office and the bone room but I can't find her."

"Of course you did, you little genius." Angela hugs her goddaughter closely to her chest then remembers her question. She lowers Christine to the floor, kneels before her and takes both of her hands, desperately trying to ignore the bruising all over. Defensive wounds. She swallows. "There was an accident when your mommy was trying to find you and she's in hospital with your daddy and baby Hank, but they're all OK, sweetie, I promise," she reassures when Christine starts to cry. She strokes her hair comfortingly in the way she's seen Brennan do in the past when her little girl was upset.

"We'll take you to your parents now, OK, Christine?" Hodgins says, attempting to talk calmly, knowing she'll be vulnerable after her capture. "They're going to be _so_ happy to see you!"

"Hodgins, call Booth and let him know we're on our way to the hospital and we have Christine with us," Angela demands as she gently leads the little girl out of the lab and towards their car.

* * *

"OK, Hank," Booth says soothingly, bouncing his restless baby boy up and down in his arms, hoping that will ease his crying. "It's OK. Come on, big guy. Calm down."

Just then his phone starts to ring. He shifts Hank higher in his arms and then pulls his cell from his back pocket one-handed. Reading Hodgins' caller ID, he clicks accept and holds the device to his ear. He nearly drops Hank when he hears the news. His heart starts to thump louder in his chest and, for the very first time in this investigation, it's for a good reason. "Thanks, Hodgins," he says, hanging up the call.

His wide, excited eyes meet Brennan's confused ones and he grins broadly. "They've got Christine! They have her, Bones! Our baby girl is safe and she'll be here in ten minutes!"

"Oh my God," she says because that's all she can manage.

"I know." It's unbelievable. He hurries forward and kisses her firmly, ignoring the fact that their son and his father-in-law are _right there_. The kiss takes both their breaths away and they simply stare at each other heatedly, while Max looks on, incredibly uncomfortable.

Booth's eyes begin to sparkle. "Bones, our daughter's coming back!"

 ***cue messages about how you all hate me for ending it here* mwahahaha**


	16. Chapter 16

**The full explanation as to why Dunn did what she did is coming soon, as is the explanation as to how Christine managed to escape/what happened to her out there. I figured they'd all need time before they could start discussing what went on, considering how traumatic it would have been for Christine. But before all that, have a nearly 4,000 word long chapter of the moment you've all been waiting for: the Booth family reunion. :)**

"Booth, quit pacing," Max complains as he watches Booth walk from left to right and back again in front of Brennan's hospital bed. Booth is understandably nervous. Knowing Christine is so close yet still so far is causing Booth's anxiety to skyrocket. Hence, the pacing.

Ignoring his cantankerous father-in-law, Booth asks what the time is for the fifth time in the last minute.

"There is still around seven minutes to go, Booth. And that's not even factoring in the delay from traffic."

The FBI agent groans, frustrated. "I just want to see her!"

"We all do, son," Max says, a softness to his voice that vanishes almost immediately. "But you don't see us pacing. Sit down, would you? You're pissing me off."

"I would be pacing too if I were not forced to stay in bed by medical instruction."

"Hey, thanks, Bones," he responds, smiling at his wife for coming to his defence and then smirking at Max. He continues to pace. "Where is she? What if they've been in a car accident? What if Dunn has come after her again?"

"Booth?" Max calls.

His eyes widen, fear rolling through his body like a tidal wave. "Yeah?"

"Your phone's ringing. It's Hodgins."

"Oh, God. She's hurt, isn't she?" He panics, picking up his cell with dread settling in his stomach. "Hodgins? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. We've just pulled into the car park so we'll only be a couple more minutes. Thought I'd let you know before you starting threatening nurses with bodily harm for information."

A chuckle escapes him, despite the tension he feels. "Is she OK?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Hodgins says before there's some muffled noises and then, finally, his daughter's voice.

" _Daddy!_ "

"Christine! Oh, God, baby, are you all right?"

" _I think so. I just want to see you!"_

His cell is on speakerphone and all three adults visibly relax at her assurance that she is in fact OK and they have nothing to worry about.

"We'll see you very, very soon, sweetheart," Brennan says, the pitch of her voice slightly higher than normal despite her attempt to sound calm for Christine. Booth can't blame her; he's struggling to keep a hold of his own emotions as he thinks about how close they are to seeing her for the first time in just over a week.

" _We're in the hospital! I see the elevators! They're like the ones at your work, daddy!"_

Booth smiles softly. His daughter always adores it when she gets to visit him at the Hoover Building because she thinks it's " _super cool"._ Plus, she always gets special treatment from the other agents who give her donuts and such for being their boss' daughter. She especially loves riding the elevators because when she gets out of them, she knows she's close to being with Booth. Consequently, elevators have come to connote excitement for Christine, which is why her exclamation about her current location sounds so gleeful.

"We're on floor two," Max calls helpfully. "Are you going to press the button, beautiful?"

" _I've pressed it!"_ She announces, her tone full of delight and happiness for, what Booth expects, the first time since she was forced away from her life. His jaw clenches at the thought.

Booth can hear the familiar _"doors opening"_ sound in the background of the call and his hands start to shake. Brennan's hospital room is a stones throw from the elevators.

" _We're in the elevator, daddy!"_ Christine says, keeping him up to date with their progress.

"I know, princess." He can hear the whirring sound as the giant metal box ascends to their level. He hears the doors open. He and Brennan exchange excited expressions as she hugs Hank, practically holding him in a death grip.

He notices Brennan's whole demeanour change. Her shoulders drop. Her mouth falls open. Tears spring to the gorgeous blue eyes he loves so much. He glances back at the doorway, his heart pounding in his chest, as the world seems to move in slow motion. His eyes lock on his other favourite pair of blue eyes.

 _Christine._

His phone falls to the floor in a clatter as his baby girl sprints towards him and leaps into his arms.

"I love you so much," he murmurs into her hair as he presses one, two, three kisses there. "We won't ever lose you again, I promise."

She snuggles into his chest and his hold on her tightens protectively. "I didn't want to leave," she cries and tension pools in Booth's body. He can _not_ have her blame herself. He just can't.

"We know you didn't, baby. This wasn't your fault, wasn't your fault." He draws comforting circles on the small of her back as he speaks, knowing that always manages to calm her down.

"Booth?"

Christine looks up to find Brennan lying in a hospital bed with Hank and then Grandpa Max on a chair to her side. "Daddy, can you-."

"Of course, sweetheart," he replies, kissing her again.

She wants a cuddle from her mom. Carrying her over to the bed, his wife's arms are already outstretched, desperate to hold her little girl despite the gut-wrenching pain wracking her body. Booth gingerly hands Christine over, careful to mind Brennan's sensitive wound.

He watches, adoration in his eyes, as three of his favourite people embrace each other, his girls both in tears.

Booth gives Angela and Hodgins a grateful smile before they have to go back to the lab. "Thank you for bringing her home," he mouths, though no words can express the gratitude he feels. It's, like, for a whole week, he's had this giant, unmovable weight on his chest, preventing him from breathing properly. He couldn't breathe. He felt like the longer Christine was missing, the heavier the weight had become. Breathing – surviving – was so difficult. Just getting through the day felt like climbing Everest, the air around him getting thinner and the weight, the burden of not knowing, of not knowing where his daughter was, of not knowing if she was safe, building day after day. He thought it was the end. He thought he'd lived through a drunk, abusive father, torture during his time in the army, explosions, gunshots, _so many gunshots_ , prison and _this_ , this was what would kill him. But now Christine is here, alive, safe, in her mother's arms where she belongs, the weight is gone. For the first time in since she was taken, he's not being crushed from the inside out. The physical as well as emotional relief is overwhelming. He finally feels like he can breathe again, like everything is back to the way it should be.

Of course, they're not completely in the clear. His wife is still seriously injured and on compulsory bed rest. Christine seems OK, but she hasn't been medically checked out yet and unsurprisingly she'll have some psychological repercussions as well. Nightmares, anxiety and the like. And there's the not-so-simple matter that they haven't caught Aline Dunn yet. There's a BOLO out on her and her vehicle, but has yet to produce any information about her location. The squints are back at the lab with Aubrey trying to find anything that could suggest where she would have gone. But for now they have a serial killer on the loose, possibly armed and dangerous. By now she'll know Christine's gone, making every child in her vicinity her next potential victim. She works in law enforcement and has done for a long time, which gives her an advantage; she knows the tricks of the trade. She knows they'll have a BOLO out on her car. She'll either have stolen another vehicle or is proceeding by foot to avoid detection. Either way, news bulletins are telling everyone in the DC area – particularly those with young daughters – to remain locked indoors with a group people and to not answer the door to _anyone._ Aline Dunn may look like your typical mom figure with a sensible brown hairstyle and a smile that is deceptively friendly, but she's manipulative, furious and extremely volatile. Hell, if she can fool the FBI into thinking she's a good, morally sound person, imagine how she could manipulate the general public.

The FBI, Metro DC and every local sheriff in the more rural areas surrounding the city where she's likely to have escaped are on standby. Most major roads out of DC have roadblocks. Nobody is underestimating how dangerous this woman could be.

"You wish you were out there, don't you?" Brennan questions, catching the far-off look in his eyes that he only gets when he's focused on a case or a suspect's whereabouts.

He comes to sit beside her and reaches for her hand, entwining her fingers with his. He squeezes supportively. "There's no place I'd rather be than right here with my beautiful family."

"You think I'm beautiful? Aw, thanks, Booth. That's kind of you," Max teases, bringing a lightness to the mood in the room. Christine giggles and the sound is like literal music to his ears. He's never been so glad to hear one of Max's sarcastic comments.

"Well, I'm a kind guy, right, Bones?"

She shakes her head at the sexy wink he sends her. "Booth, seriously, you want to be out there, searching for her. Don't you?"

He closes his eyes. He can't lie to her. Reopening them, he sees the anxious way she's biting her lip and sighs, resigned. "Fine. Yes. I do. I'm the best agent there is and I know if I went out there, I'd find her."

" _Her_?" Christine crinkles her nose. "Who are you talking about?"

Booth and Brennan both look to Max, neither knowing how to respond.

Max gently takes Christine's tiny hand in his, not wanting to aggravate the bruises and scrape marks on her skin. He knows they mean she fought back – she tried hard to get herself out of such a horrific, terrifying situation – and he feels a surge of pride for his granddaughter. Beautiful, intelligent and tough. Just like her mother. "By her, your mommy and daddy mean Aline Dunn, the woman who took you and killed all those other girls."

Pure fear crosses the five year old's face. "You haven't found her?"

At this point, not even Max is sure what to say. Their little angel looks so frightened, more frightened than they've ever seen her. Booth is reminded of how scared Brennan had been when Kenton tried to kill her all those years ago. Once again, his girls are so alike that it does funny things to his heart. The two situations aren't that different either. An FBI agent gone rogue starts to kill people. A FBI profiler gone rogue starts to kill children. An FBI agent kidnaps his wife and attempts to kill her. A FBI profiler kidnaps his daughter and (potentially) attempts to kill her – he wants to wait as long as he can before he has to question Christine about the events that transpired during her capture, absolutely dreading the conversation. His throat constricts as he tries to retain his tears. Why can't he keep his girls safe? Why do criminals continue to target his perfect little family? Guilt spreads through him like tea dispersing itself in the mug once hot water is poured in. He can't help but feel responsible. Brennan was perfectly content playing with her ancient remains before she met him, but, no, he'd insisted on dragging her into his murder-y, FBI world. How many times had she almost died because of her job? And now his children are being affected, too.

" _Daddy?_ Daddy!" Christine calling his name pulls him out of his thoughts. "Have you found her?"

Guilt seeps through every pore. "No," he admits quietly, quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. "We haven't."

"So she could take me again?" She clutches onto Brennan fearfully, not noticing her mother's grimace.

"Absolutely not. I will not let her, you hear me?"

Christine nods timidly, however, she doesn't let go of Brennan.

"Be careful, beautiful. Your mommy is sore," Max warns, concerned for his daughter's wellbeing.

"What happened?" Christine asks, equally worried at the pained expression Brennan is wearing as Booth lifts Hank from the bed so Christine can lie next to Brennan, rather than on top of her, pressing against the fresh wound.

"Your mommy was very brave, but she got shot by the bad lady," Max explains in the most child friendly way he can while Booth distracts a fussy baby Hank, disappointed that he's been forced away from his two favourite people.

"Is she OK?"

"She will be as long as she's with you, Hank and your daddy."

"We'll look after you, mommy," Christine promises.

Brennan wipes away her daughter's tears and lightly strokes her hair. "Thank you, sweetheart. I can't wait. Will daddy get to be my special nurse?"

"Oh, I would _pay_ to see Booth in a woman's nurse's outfit," Max laughs, grinning broadly.

"Hey. I'd look good in a dress," he defends himself, pointing at his father-in-law. His expression softens as his gaze shifts to his wife. "And of course I'll take care of you, Bones."

Her eyes sparkle delightedly. "Can't wait."

Just then, Booth feels a finger tap on his shoulder and glances up at a rather impatient looking nurse he hadn't even noticed enter the room.

"I need you to wait outside now while I run some tests on Dr. Brennan," she says, staring pointedly at the visitors.

" _Tests_?" Booth feels his panic rising. "Why? Is she OK?"

"It's just standard procedure," she explains, having already been pre-warned about Agent Booth and his over-protective nature towards his wife. "Won't take long. If you could just step outside-."

"No. We can wait here."

"Sir, protocol states-."

"I don't give a damn about protocol," Booth protests vociferously, covering Hank's ears. "My _wife_ has been _shot_. I'm not leaving her alone. Not for two minutes."

"She won't be alone, sir. I'll be here."

"Like hell I'm leaving my wife with you," he rebuffs, scoffing. "The last time I trusted her with life with somebody else, she nearly died. So, no. I'm not going to lose her for anything. Work around me or-."

"Sir, protocol _says_ -."

"Booth, maybe we should just wait outside," Max suggests, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Bones needs to stay with our daughter and vice versa. It will kill both of them if you separate them right now."

"Well, actually, Christine needs to be transferred to our children's ward for examinations of her own," the immensely annoyed nurse counters.

"My daughter was kidnapped by a serial murderer and we've only just been reunited over a week later. You understand that none of us want to leave each other at the moment. Let Christine's doctor come here," Brennan pleads as she soothingly caresses her daughter's back.

"I know about your situation. I found your husband's speech at the press conference to be very moving. I tell you what. I'll go speak to my boss, see what I can do."

The tension coiling in Booth's jaw relaxes as she leaves the room. "Sorry about that, Bones."

"Don't be. I don't want you to leave either. Thanks for standing up for me," she says sweetly, leaning over to give him a kiss. It's only short, but it's packed with meaning. She'd once told him that she was standing beside him, just like she always will. Throughout this difficult time, that's proved more than the truth. They'll both always be there for each other; she's his strength and he's hers. They need the other at all times, but especially during periods of great struggle. That's why there's no way in _h-e double hockey sticks_ that nurse is getting him to leave his wife. Not even for a minute. Not a chance.

Christine takes after Brennan in many ways. She loves to learn, discover new concepts, new words. It's this constant inquisitiveness that prompts her to ask, "what's a press conference?"

After sharing a quick, cautious look with his wife, Booth decides to answer. "It's when you talk to journalists after something big happens. Me, mommy and the parents of the other little girls had to do it when we were trying to find you. Do you understand?"

She nods. Then, "what took you so long? Why couldn't you find me? _I was so scared_."

Booth's heart breaks into a million pieces, feeling his knees weakening beneath him. "Christine… sweetheart… sometimes mommy and daddy's jobs are very difficult… sometimes the bad guys are too smart…"

"But nobody is smarter than mommy."

"No, of course not, sweetie, but-."

Booth is saved from having to explain something his daughter is too innocent to understand by a knocking on the door. _Thank God_ , he thinks inwardly as Brennan welcomes the young doctor in.

Personally, Booth doesn't think he looks old enough to be a doctor. He reminds him of Zack before… _you know_ … His dark hair is floppy, his face slightly chubby and childlike with not a shred of facial hair on his skin. Booth highly doubts that he's old enough, qualified enough to be practising medicine on his five-year-old. It probably wasn't all that long ago that he was a child himself.

Oblivious to Booth's scathing analysis of his age and experience, the visitor introduces himself as Dr. Knight. "I'm a paediatrician here and I'm going to be the one examining Christine today." He kneels down beside Brennan's bed where Christine is hiding her face in her mother's shoulder and the corners of his lips tick up in a small, friendly smile. "Hey there. You must be Christine. Would you like a lollypop?"

She slowly removes her face from its hiding position and Booth smirks to himself. Sugar. Always the way to his baby girl's heart.

"What colour do you like best? I have red, orange, green or purple."

"Red," she answers quietly, watching as the doctor procures a red lollypop from his pocket and hands it over to her.

"What do you say, Christine?"

"Thank you," she murmurs as she unwraps the plastic and sticks the sweet straight into her mouth.

"You're very welcome," Dr. Knight says, laughing softly. Lollypops never fail to work. "Now, Christine, it's my job to check you over to make sure you're nice and healthy so your parents can relax. Is that all right?"

Christine glances uneasily at Brennan.

Booth can tell that she's scared, that she doesn't trust the stranger. Anger boils within him. She's five years old, for God's sake. She shouldn't have to be this afraid to see a doctor. And Booth is worried this is just the start. He determines to make sure Aline Dunn pays for doing this to his little girl, to his family.

"It's OK, sweetie," Brennan says reassuringly, caressing Christine's cheek. "We'll be with you this whole time and we won't let anything happen to you."

"All right." She reluctantly climbs off the hospital bed and sits down on the chair Dr. Knight offers her.

By the time Dr. Knight has finished examining Christine to see if she has any serious injuries or drugs Aline Dunn could have pumped into her system, the nurse from before has been in to check Brennan's blood pressure, temperature, other vital statistics and given her the next dose of medication. Booth sits on the edge of his seat the entire time, anxiously watching his two girls get poked and prodded, wishing it were he instead of them.

"Everything seems to be normal," Dr. Knight announces to everyone's relief. "She's a little underweight for what's expected of her age and a little dehydrated but that's not surprising after being kept in captivity for the amount of time she was. They did give her some food and drink, however, the quantity _and_ quality was not sufficient to maintain the good health she was in before. Your brave little girl should be fine after she goes back home and is on her normal eating schedule. As of any injuries, she has a broken ulna – which I'll plaster in a moment – but is mostly just bruised from being knocked around. The adrenaline kick right now will be keeping the soreness at bay, but give her some painkillers in a few hours and that will help."

"Thank you, doctor," Max says gratefully. The prognosis is not _amazing_ – she has a broken arm and is obviously not as healthy (mentally or physically) as she was before she was taken – but it could have been so much worse. She could have ended up like the other girls; they should be thankful that there doesn't appear to be much physical damage. Although, nobody knows yet how bad the mental repercussions could be.

"I'll go get the things for her cast. What colour would you like, Christine?"

"Purple!" She says excitedly. Purple is her most favourite colour and her friends at school will be _so_ jealous she got a cast before them.

He leaves, a wide grin on his face and then the Booth family sit in silence for a moment, each of them wondering what could have been.

Christine breaks the quiet as she crawls back into her mommy's arms. "Do you think Auntie Angela will draw me a pretty mermaid on my cast like she did for Uncle Wendell?"

"I'm sure she'd draw you _ten_ mermaids if that's what you wanted," Brennan responds, kissing Christine's temple.

"Does daddy get to draw a picture on your cast?"

Christine appears to consider it carefully for the longest time, giggling when Booth tickles her side for having to think about it. "Are you a good at drawing?" She questions through her giggles.

"Of course I am!"

Before Christine can reply, they hear a commotion outside the room. Seemingly hundreds of people are running past their windows, patients and staff alike. There's a sea of terrified faces and screams as the nurses attempt to corral the panicked crowd like a farmer would a herd of cattle.

"What the hell's going on?" Booth wonders aloud, stepping outside and catching the closest nurse to him. He repeats his question.

"There's an armed woman inside the hospital," she explains, continuing to guide people to safety as she talks, her voice shaking with fear. "She's already shot three people in the parking lot and two more in the lobby. The hospital is on lockdown, sir. You need to stay in your room."

"OK." As he re-enters his wife's room and his family's confused eyes meet his, he tries to suppress his own anxiety, a feeling of foreboding that's lurking over him. He shuts the door, locks it and closes all the blinds and curtains so nobody from the outside can see in.

"Booth, what's going on?"

He turns to his wife. His skin pales, his lip trembling. He can't look her in the eyes and he certainly can't look at his precious children. His reason for living. He clears his throat, his body shaking violently.

"Aline Dunn is in the hospital."

 **Shit is about to go down.**

 **Review? :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks for the response to the previous chapter. I really appreciate it!**

 **This is my personal favourite so far (even though I felt really tense while writing it) so I hope you like it just as much. :)**

"Aline Dunn is in the hospital."

Max freezes. " _What?"_

"Booth, are you sure?" Brennan looks equally terrified.

"100%."

"It's not that I doubt you or anything, but I'm curious as to what evidence you have to prove it is indeed Dunn causing all this chaos."

He rolls his eyes at his wife. "It's my gut, Bones."

"Which means there's no point freaking out over something that is not a conclusive fact," she says, sighing in relief.

"No, Bones. Dunn is _definitely_ in this hospital and she's already killed five people – she's devolving. I need you and the kids to lock yourselves in the bathroom and not come out until I give you the OK, OK?"

"Booth, no-."

He holds up his palm to face her. "This is not an argument, Bones. You're going to get in the bathroom and stay there. You don't have another choice."

"I'm trained in martial arts, I'm a good shot-."

" _We don't have a gun_ ," he hisses. "It's useless being a good shot if you don't have a weapon to shoot with. Plus, you're on bed rest, you can't do your ninja stuff right now."

"I am not a ninja." Incredulity seeps through her tone.

"Whatever. Don't care. You can't fight. End of discussion."

"What if she had a gun? She could shoot from her bed," Max suggests, coming to his daughter's defence. He understands her need to protect her family more than anybody else.

Booth's eyes swivel to her father-in-law. "I already _said_ we don't have a-."

"Gun?" Max finishes, lifting the hem of his pant leg, revealing a hidden Glock 17. "You mean like this one?"

"Where the _hell_ did you get that?"

Max shrugs. "I'm an ex-con. I carry a gun with me at all times; gotta look after my family."

Booth turns back to Brennan who's shielding their daughter's eyes from the weapon in her grandfather's hands and covering the five-year-old's ears. They had established long ago that they would keep Max's past a secret until Christine and Hank are old enough to fully understand. "You are not using that gun," he says to her decisively and, reluctantly, Brennan agrees. Rationally speaking, he _was_ a Ranger, a marksman – if they only have one weapon, he's the most qualified person in the room to fire it accurately.

"Good. Now," he snatches the gun from Max's grasp and slips it into the back of his jeans at the small of his back, "would you three get in the bathroom now?"

"Booth, I think I can help," Brennan protests adamantly.

He shakes his head and walks towards her. He cups her jaw with his hand, the pad of his thumb gently stroking her cheek as he looks deeply into the blue orbits that stare back at him. He swallows the lump in his throat. "Bones, I… This woman is dangerous, real dangerous and – and I think it's pretty obvious here that we're the targets."

"Which is why I should-."

"No." His thumb darts to her lips. "Don't talk. You're the love of my life, Bones, You are everything and the kids…" His eyes flick to his Christine watching him with rapt attention, and then to baby Hank, sleeping peacefully in his stroller. "I need you to be safe. The kids, they need you. So, please, just – just go into the bathroom where you'll be safe." His voice is desperate, his expression full of heartbreak as he asks his wife to do the one thing she hates most: giving up, losing, letting the murderers win.

"Can I speak now?" She murmurs, his thumb still touching her lips.

"Yes, Bones, of course." His thumb returns to its previous position, stroking her beautifully soft skin.

"I accept the fact that Dunn is a significant threat and that hiding in the bathroom would minimise the risk to my life, to our children's lives. I will go in there, but only because it will make you happy. However, I have one question before I do so."

He glances over at the doorway, concerned that their psychopathic kidnapper come serial murderer come spree killer could shoot out the lock any second and put holes through each and every one of their chests for crossing her. Glancing back at Brennan, he nods quickly. "Anything."

"Why can't you and Max come with us? I can't – we can't lose you either, Booth."

"There's not enough room for all of us," he explains, caressing her cheek firmer. He wants to stay with them more than anything, but he can't. It's an impossible situation and he has to choose his priorities. It's clear that his wife and children's lives are the most important. He and Max will protect their family above all else. Their own lives fit into the "all else" category.

"But, Booth-."

He dips his head, his lips catching hers, effectively ending her sentence. Her fingers circle his neck and she plays with his hair at his nape. Booth smiles softly into the kiss then pulls away. "I love you, Bones."

"I love you, too, Booth," she says as if it's the very last time she'll be able to.

"Now, come on. She could get here any minute." He unhooks Brennan from the monitors and carefully helps her off the bed and into the small ensuite attached to the hospital room. He closes the toilet lid so she can ease herself into a sitting position. With one more quick, yet loving kiss, he hurries back for a frozen Christine, too frightened by this point to even move. He carries her into the bathroom with Brennan and now Hank (Max had lifted the slumbering child from his stroller while Booth dealt with his two girls). He kisses them all again for what could be the final time. His hand meets the doorknob. "You promise to lock this after me?"

"Yes," Brennan promises solemnly, her eyes watering as Booth says his silent goodbyes to his family.

"Good. OK. Um." He gulps. "I'll hopefully see you soon." Despair swallowing him whole, he closes the door between him and his life then waits beside it. He hears the click of the lock and feels relief mixed with a stab of pain. He hates this, he hates this, he hates this. "I hate this," he says aloud.

Max claps an open hand to his shoulder, a show of support, respect. He, too, has sacrificed himself to ensure his family's safety and he knows how much it hurts to do so. "You did the right thing, son."

The sounds of his wife and children crying emanating from the small room, he sighs deeply, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. "Yeah? Why doesn't it feel like it then?"

"It's never easy protecting the people you love from those who want to harm them. There's one part of you that wants to stay with them, never let them go, and there's the rest that wants to fight like hell to take down the bad guys who threaten them. My decision still haunts me today, Booth. The only reason I can live with myself is that, in the end, I made the right call – I saved them – and so have you."

One corner of Booth's mouth quirks into a smile. "Thanks, Max."

They shake hands. "You, too, son."

The FBI agent nods. Silence engulfs them. They can't even hear the soft cries anymore; Brennan obviously warned Christine that it could give away their location. God, he hopes they can keep their emotions at bay long enough to guarantee their safety.

Booth sits down on the edge of the vacated bed, feeling the barrel of the gun press against his lower back. He sucks in a breath and prays he doesn't have to use it.

He hears a knock on the door.

Every nerve in his body jolts. Every hair stands up. Trepidation seeps into every pore. He exchanges a look with his father-in-law, neither of them saying anything, neither of them moving.

The person knocks again.

Max opens his mouth to ask "who's there?" but Booth stops him with a hand to his chest and a sharp glare.

"It could be Dunn," he mouths.

He's not sure what kind of serial killer would knock and respectfully wait for a response, but this woman is more messed up than a lot of people he's worked with and he thinks maybe she could be luring him into a trap, convincing him it's safe to open the door then blasting a hole through his heart. He shakes his head. He will not open this door until he's certain Aline Dunn is not behind it.

Another knock. Then,

"It's Dr. Knight. Please, let me in."

Booth instantly recognises the Zack Addy-esque doctor from earlier. He'd been very kind and understanding as he treated Christine. Booth does not doubt the fact that's he's a good man and could not work with Dunn. However, he needs to be sure.

He steps forward and adjusts the blinds a fraction. He sees Dr. Knight on the other side. Alone.

Booth blows a breath out of his lips and proceeds to unlock the door, ready to allow the young man in. He opens the door slowly, cautiously, and the doctor slips through. Just as Booth is re-closing it, a manicured hand peaks through the gap. His shock momentarily paralysing him, the hand forces open the door.

He jumps back, his eyes wide, afraid, as one Dr. Aline Dunn appears in the entrance, a malicious smirk on her face, a gun trained directly at Booth in her hand.

"Hello, Seeley. Remember me?"

 **Another cliffhanger, I know, but don't hate me. Resolution will be provided soon.**

 **I've worked really, really hard on this story – I don't have anybody else proofreading it for me, so I've done this all by myself and I'd be super, super grateful if you could leave me a quick review. Thank you. :)**


	18. Chapter 18

" _Hello, Seeley. Remember me?"_

"What the hell are you doing here?" Booth spits, putting his body between the armed killer and his father-in-law right behind him. He needs to know somebody in this room will protect Bones and the kids at all costs if he dies and he knows without a doubt that person is Max.

"I want Lauren back."

Booth furrows his brow. He doesn't recollect seeing a Lauren anywhere in the case files, and he's examined those pretty closely over the past few months. "Who's Lauren?" He asks her, confused.

"You know how she is, Seeley. Don't play dumb with me."

"No, I genuinely don't-."

Dunn's neck reddens, her ire growing. "Do _not_ make me beg for this child, Seeley. That's not my style."

"Oh, no. Your style is taking them when their parents aren't around, murdering them and dumping their dead bodies by the Potomac," Max retorts.

Booth glowers over his shoulder.

He turns back to Dunn and shrugs slightly. "I'm sorry about him. He hasn't had his afternoon nap yet and he's cranky."

"I may be old, Booth, but I'm not deaf," he argues good-naturedly, smacking his son-in-law round the back of his neck.

"I couldn't care less about him, I only care about Lauren. _Where is she_?"

"I honestly don't know anybody called Lauren. Is she real? You could just be messed up in the head and have invented her." _No could about_ _ **that**_ , Booth thinks, although he doesn't say it aloud. She does still have a gun pointed directly at him, after all. Don't want to test her too much.

Dunn reacts badly anyway, grabbing Booth by the front of his T-shirt and jabbing the barrel of the gun against his temple. She grits her teeth. "Give. Me. Lauren."

Booth takes deep breaths. The cold metal pressed firmly against his skin contrasts greatly with the heat – the anger, fear and stress – bubbling underneath. He focuses his thoughts solely on his family. On his Bones. His Parker. His Christine. His Hank. He inhales then exhales. If he's going to die at the hands of Aline Dunn, he's going to do so thinking about the people he loves most in this world. She repeats herself and he snaps. "Seriously, who the _fuck_ is Lauren?"

"Tiny. Brown hair. Very smart. That… that girl you were so intent on finding."

Her description is bare, but it's enough.

" _My daughter?"_

"Yes, her! I told you that you knew her! Were you lying to me?" She admonishes, digging the barrel deeper into his skin.

Booth winces at the pain. "No," he says eventually, a grimace on his face. "I really don't know a Lauren. My daughter is called Christine."

"No! No," she shrieks, a crazy look in her eyes that is _totally_ freaking Booth out. Perhaps she's even more deluded than they had anticipated. "It's not Christine. It's – it's Lauren."

"That might be what you call her, but that's not her real name. My daughter was named after her grandmother on my wife's side. Christine Brennan. See? You know I'm right."

She's silent for several beats. Then, "I prefer the name Lauren and I'm in control here, so that's who she shall be."

"Why?"

 _"Why?"_

"Yes, why."

"I have a gun to your head – I could blow your brains out at any second – and you're asking me why I prefer one name to another?" She questions, puzzled.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," he says slowly, calmly, an expression of complete relaxation on his face, as if he's not even fazed by the weapon pressing into his skull.

She raises her eyebrows, but explains anyway. "Lauren… was the name of my only friend in school. She was kind, pretty and she never made fun of me like the other kids."

"Why did the other kids make fun of you?"

"Aren't I supposed to be the psychologist?" She quips then answers his question. "I used to love reading. I always had my head in a good book. I didn't like sports or parties or any big social gathering and apparently that made me weird. But Lauren… she didn't care about that. We'd always talk about our favourite writers, or sit in her garden, the flowers blooming around us, and make up our own stories. They were the happiest memories of my life," she tells a silent audience, a dazed look in her eyes. She quickly jumps out of it, her facial expression steeling. "Before things got complicated."

"How did things get complicated?"

She rolls her eyes and questions why he's even interested. Nobody has been before.

"Because you're targeting these children for a reason. I want to know why that is."

At first, she doesn't speak. She glances at a fascinated Max and a terrified Dr. Knight who she'd followed to this room. She supposes she's going to kill everyone here anyway, so it won't hurt to share her secret with them.

"I had a biological daughter – Evie. She would have been nine years old this year."

"Would have?" Max inquires.

"She died three years ago. It was her father – Jean. We met in Paris, had this whirlwind romance and then I discovered I was pregnant. I was thrilled," she recounts, her lip quivering in a rare display of vulnerability.

Booth prods at that vulnerable side to her. "Jean was not so happy?"

"Not at all. He s-said he never loved me, that I ruined his life by getting pregnant. He tried to force me to get an abortion, but I refused and got a restraining order out on him. He'd become crazy, maniac-like. It was scary."

Booth bites his lip before he can point out the irony that she's become the very thing she was originally afraid of. Also, calling somebody else crazy when _she's_ the one holding a gun to a federal agent's head – _really?_ Instead, he asks how she knows it was Evie's father who killed her, if she witnessed anything, if she had any evidence.

She shakes her head ruefully. "Nothing."

"Frustrating, isn't it? When a murderer gets away with killing a child because there's no physical proof."

" _Max_ ," Booth groans, face palming. "Stop. It."

"You should really control that one better," she snarls angrily in Max's direction, who rears up in retaliation, only to be stopped by his son-in-law.

"Moving on. Jean hasn't been charged yet? All these years later?"

"Not at all. He's a cop," she spits out the word, disgust evident in her tone. "He was able to cover it up. I haven't seen him since, but I have reason to believe he's no longer on American soil."

"So that's why you killed these girls? Because of your anger over your daughter's unsolved murder? You wanted to find a replacement for Evie, but when they weren't right for you, you murdered them and carelessly abandoned their corpses by the Potomac?"

"It wasn't _carelessly_."

"It wasn't?" Booth begs to differ.

"No, it was _symbolic_. Those girls were left in the same position that bastard left my baby girl in."

Dunn begins to get emotional, her hard exterior crumbling away as she remembers the day she'd discovered her missing daughter's body, remembers the intense pain and devastating feeling of loss she'd experienced. She lowers the gun from Booth's head as memories fly through her brain. Evie's first stumbling steps. Her first word. Mama. That time they'd gone to Disneyland together and her daughter had spent the whole weekend laughing delightedly. Every evening when she'd read to Evie and then, when she got older, when Evie would read to her.

Booth tries to comfort her, understanding how difficult it must be to outlive your own child, no matter what horrifying things she's done since. He places his hand on her shoulder but she recoils, snapping straight back to reality. Dunn grabs his hand and flips him onto the hard floor. She points the gun at his chest as she stands above him, panting heavily.

" _You tricked me!"_

"Let's calm down here," Booth says, his voice sounding considerably more at ease than he feels. "There's no need to shoot."

"You got me talking about my past on purpose. You wanted to distract me! Where are the cops?"

"What cops?" He asks obliviously.

"I'm an FBI shrink. I know that move. Where are they?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Her lip curls. "You don't know much, do you, Agent Booth?"

"I know that you're not going to get away with this. I know where my daughter is and I know that I'm never going to let you lay a finger on her ever again."

"WHERE IS SHE?" Dunn yells, reinvigorated about achieving her original goal she'd set out when coming here: bringing Lauren back to where she belongs.

"Booth," Max warns, his eyes filled with unshed tears, terrified Dunn will put two and two together and shoot out the bathroom lock if Booth keeps aggravating her like this.

"Cool, it Max." He fixes his stare on the armed killer standing over him. "Put the gun down, Aline, and everything will be OK."

"No!" Her scream jars against the silence in the room. She turns her gun on Max and Booth jumps up from the floor. "Who is this?"

"My father-in-law," Booth answers candidly, his voice wavering. It will kill his wife if she loses both of her parents, especially now that Max has been back in her life for so long. He can't let that happen. He can't let Max die. "He's not the one you're mad at though, is he? You took Christine because I'm a cop, right? You wanted to punish me because Evie's father – and murderer – was a cop, too. You don't hate Max; he's the furthest thing from a cop. He used to be a bank robber, he murdered the deputy director of the FBI… He's on the same side as you, really. You don't want to hurt one of the people who agree with your opinion on the police, do you?"

Frustrated, she turns the barrels towards Dr. Knight, her hand with in the gun in shaking as she aims it at his kneecaps. "I'll blow out his knees," she threatens lowly.

Dr. Knight whimpers, his body paralysed with fear.

"Nah, you won't," Booth says casually, putting one hand in his jean pocket. "If you were that interested in shooting one of us, you would have done it already." He steps closer to her, ignoring Max's shouts for him to stop it. "I think you're out of bullets."

"What?"

"I think you didn't mean to kill all those people out there. Those bullets were meant for me. You used Dr. Knight to find out where I was and now you're here, you don't have any left. You didn't anticipate having to murder five other people; I don't think you brought enough rounds with you. But, go ahead, if you have them, shoot me." He taps at the centre of his chest, encouraging her to blow a hole through it. "Shoot me."

They hear a loud sob from the ensuite and Dunn's stare turns fiery. "They're in there, aren't they? Your family."

Booth takes a sideways step so he's blocking the door. "Don't do anything stupid, Aline."

She strides menacingly closer to him, her eyes lit with anger/desire. "My daughter's in there, isn't she?"

"She's not your daughter."

Aline spins around at the new voice to find Aubrey in his FBI bulletproof vest and a group of SWAT guys behind him, all levelling their guns on her.

Booth sees the psychologist gulp and smirks to himself. "You might want to put your weapon down now, Aline. If you want to get out of here alive, that is."

Slowly she puts down the gun and Aubrey surges forwards to pick it up, while Booth accepts the handcuffs his partner gives him and tightens them around Dunn's wrists, taking great pleasure in the moment. As he hands her over to the SWAT team who lead her away, one man on either arm, relief washes over him. She's not going to see freedom ever again, he thinks thankfully, knowing she won't be able to subject any more families to pain and suffering.

"Took your sweet time there, Aubrey," Booth complains, blowing out a deep breath, all of the stress and worry and fear leaving his body. He wipes away the sweat that had pooled on his forehead during the intense exchange.

Max smiles, pride emanating from within him. "You had that planned all along?"

"Yep." He fishes his cell from his pocket and shows his father-in-law. "I sent Aubrey a text the second I suspected Dunn was the armed gunman – or gunwoman, I guess – and just had to keep her from killing us until she got here. I recorded the entire thing, too, so I have a full confession. She's going to be locked up for a very, very long time. I told you, Max, I'm the best agent there is."

"Hey! What about me?" Aubrey protests, but Booth isn't listening.

He knocks on the bathroom door. "Bones, you can come out now. It's safe."

He hears the click of the door unlock and Christine comes running out, fear plastered over her face. Booth lifts her into his arms protectively, careful to avoid her broken arm.

"Is she gone?"

"She's already on her way to prison, sweetheart. She's never going to be able to hurt anybody again."

She snuggles close to his body. "Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome, Christine. Uncle Aubrey helped, too, though."

The five-year-old glances over her shoulder to see the young agent she's come to absolutely adore. He grins broadly as Booth transfers Christine to his arms and hugs her tightly.

Meanwhile, Booth helps his wife out of the bathroom, his arm snaking around her waist.

"I was so scared, Booth," she confesses, struggling to retain her tears.

"I know, Bones. I'm so sorry I put you through that, but I guessed she was going to try to make her way to our room and that was the only way I could think of protecting all of you and arresting her at the same time."

"My hero," Brennan says sweetly, making him laugh.

He tugs her closer, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. When they eventually separate, Booth grins and claps his hands together. "So, who wants to go to the diner?"

 **This story isn't over** ** _just_** **yet. There's still one more chapter to go and then (probably) an epilogue.**

 **Leave a review? :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**First of all, I am SO sorry this chapter has taken this long to write. I think all the stress about whether or not I'm going to be accepted into uni has left my brain fried – it's kind of difficult to focus on anything else right now! I didn't mean to leave it this long and fingers crossed the epilogue won't take so long to update. Second of all, thank you so much for your continued support/patience with this story – your favourites/follows/reviews all mean the world to me and I really, truly appreciate each and every one of them. I hope the wait has been worth it!**

 **(Also a special thanks to** **Keira Willow for your latest review because it totally made my week and made me cry** **a little. Read:** **a LOT.)**

Booth and Brennan exchange happy smiles as they watch Christine – sat across the table from them – show off her "super cool" purple plaster cast to her Grandpa. He responds to her excited exclamations with the appropriate level of enthusiasm, just glad that she's alive, they're alive and their family will be OK; it had been touch and go there for a while. But they've made it through. With hindsight, Max wonders why he ever doubted that they'd all make it out alive – his daughter and her husband are much too stubborn for the outcome to have been any different.

"When do you two have to get back to work?" Max asks as Christine sips her strawberry milkshake and Hank lies in his stroller, fast asleep. "I'll happily take the kids if you need me to."

"Thanks, Max, but we should be all right for a couple of days. We don't have to go back until tomorrow morning, but then we should have the rest of the week off."

Christine pops the straw out of her mouth, her eyes wide and afraid. "Do you have to go back?" Now she's been reunited with her mom and dad, she really doesn't want to leave them again.

"Unfortunately so, sweetheart." Brennan reaches out to touch Christine's tiny, non-plastered hand, squeezing it supportively. "I'm needed at the lab in order to close this case, we can order take-out afterwards to make up for it."

"Take-out! That sounds great, huh, Christine?"

She nods, but an air of uncertainty remains.

"You need to come to work with me anyway," Booth says, trying to keep his tone as positive as possible. "So we can have a special daddy-daughter day."

"Why?" Her brow crinkles.

"Well, sweetheart, you need to tell Uncle Aubrey about everything that happened while you were away so we can send the bad lady to jail. I know that sounds difficult and scary but it's a really, really important job-."

"And daddy will be there with you the entire time," Booth adds with an encouraging smile in Christine's direction.

"Do you think you can do that?"

The five year old hesitates, glancing at Max to seek his assurance.

"You'll be fine, princess."

She doesn't want to relive the horror she'd just experienced – the scariest moments of her life. However, if it's true that she could help lock up the woman who'd inflicted this trauma upon her, how can she say no?

"You promise you'll be there, daddy?" She says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I can do more than that, I can _pinky promise_." He sticks his little finger out. Christine wraps her pinky around his and Booth beams. "That's my girl!"

"You're so brave, honey."

"The bravest," Max agrees as the waitress brings their orders to the table. Burgers all round, though Brennan's is veggie, rather than beef.

The Booth family dig in, none of them speaking for the longest time, too engrossed in the greasy Diner grub that they adore so much. It's the first meal they've actually been able to _enjoy_ since Christine went missing and they're damn well going to make the most of it.

Booth's phone ringing breaks the silence.

Parker's name and face appear on his cell phone screen and he eagerly accepts the call, pressing his cell to his ear. "Parker?"

" _Hi, dad! I just saw your text. Is she OK?"_

No name is necessary. "She seems all right so far. Her arm is broken so she has a cast on it, but other than that there don't seem to be any physical injuries."

" _I bet she's loving that_ ," his voice comes through the speaker, sounding amused.

"Absolutely. She can't wait for everyone to sign it."

 _"_ _And_ …" He pauses, selecting his words carefully. " _Psychologically?"_

Booth sighs. "I'm not too sure yet. Tonight could be interesting." He risks a glance at his daughter, who's watching him with rapt attention. "But I don't really want to talk about that in front of her."

" _She's there_?"

"'Course. We're all going to be pretty inseparable for some time."

" _Can I speak with her_?" He's been exceptionally worried about his baby sister and he's found it even harder with the some 3,700 miles wide ocean stretching between their two countries. None of his friends _really_ understood what he was going through – which was hard enough, let alone the added struggle of being away from his dad and his family anyway. He'd called for updates, sometimes up to four times daily, desperate for any information about his sister's whereabouts and safety. He doesn't see "half" when it comes to Christine and little Hank. They're his siblings. Period. He loves them with all his heart, whether they have the same biological mother or not. The thought of them being put in danger, the thought of losing either one of them, is inconceivable to him.

"Of course, Park." He hears a crackle on the other end of the line as Booth passes the phone over to Christine, then the best sound he's ever heard: Christine's voice coming through the speaker.

"Hi, Parker!"

It's only simple but it makes his eyes prick with tears. He's missed her so much.

" _Christine_. _Are you OK?"_

"I'm OK," moisture wells in her own eyes as she talks to her favourite big brother. Her only big brother. But still. Her favourite. "How are you?"

 _"_ _I'm better now. I missed you_ _ **so**_ _much, beautiful."_

"I missed you more."

He scoffs. " _Nuh uh_."

"Uh huh."

" _I'm older therefore I'm right_."

"No way, I'm always right!" She argues playfully, channelling her inner Temperance Brennan.

Amusement shines in Max's eyes as he regards his daughter and her husband. "They sound exactly like you two."

"That's a compliment, right? I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

" _Christine, listen, I missed you the most and there's nothing you can do to prove me wrong. I'm gonna have to come visit you guys and give you a million cuddles,"_ Parker continues, missing the conversation between his father and the man he considers his third grandfather.

"Please come soon!" Christine says, excitement evident in her facial expression.

 _"_ _I will, I will. I have half term coming up, so I'll visit then. How's that sound?"_

"Great!" She's practically bouncing in her seat at the thought of being reunited with Parker. Booth absolutely adores how close the two of them are. "Will you take me for ice cream?"

 _"_ _I'll take you for as much ice cream as you want._ "

"Really?"

" _Really_ ," he promises sincerely.

"But mommy says too much ice cream is bad for your teeth…"

Parker chuckles. She so reminds him of Bones. Always a stickler for the rules. " _I'm sure she'll let us. Just this once_."

"Will you let us, mommy?" Christine questions, turning her puppy eyes on Brennan, who cannot resist that look ever, especially not after her daughter has just been kidnapped by a serial murderer.

"I suppose I can let the health concerns slide this time."

"Thanks, mommy. You're the best. Parker, she said yes!" She exclaims animatedly into the phone.

"I know. I heard," he laughs just as Booth wraps an arm around his wife's shoulders, his lips moving toward one ear.

"I'm so proud of you, Bones." His voice is just above a whisper, just audible above the noisy hubbub of the Royal Diner, but not loud enough for anybody else to hear. "You're pretty amazing, you know that, right?"

"Oh, I know," she teases, her broad smile displaying her perfect set of teeth. "You are as well. We never would have caught Dunn if it wasn't for you."

He shrugs off her kind words. He doesn't need to be the hero here. They have their daughter back and that's all that counts. "You would have done the same thing."

She's silent for a moment, considering his statement. "I am a genius, so yes, I probably would have figured out that she had no more bullets, but I don't know if I could have stayed calm like you."

"Believe me, Bones, I was freaking out on the inside. I couldn't bare to lose you guys. I love you all so much."

"Funnily enough," she says, speaking for the rest of their family, "we all feel the same way about you."

He grins, his lips making a smacking sound against the apple of her cheek.

To everybody else, they probably just look like an ordinary family sharing an ordinary dinner at their favourite eating establishment, but for the Booth family this is a very momentous occasion and they don't want to take a minute of their time together for granted. They know all too well how close you can become to losing everything.

Besides, they're extraordinary.

* * *

"Here we go," Booth murmurs as he unlocks the door and enters their darkened house, Christine comfortably on his hip. Brennan wheels Hank's stroller in and shuts the door behind them, locking it and tossing the keys into the designated dish on the side table.

"I'm going to put this one to bed," she says softly as she lifts a slumbering Hank into her arms and carries him down the hallway and into his nursery.

"What about you, Christine? Are you ready to go to sleep?" Personally, he's exhausted and could sleep for about fifty years.

She shakes her head decisively, her grip on her father tightening.

"But it's getting late, sweetheart…"

"Don't want to be alone," she cries, burying her face in his shoulder. "Please don't leave me alone."

"OK, how about if I stay with you in your room? Will you go to sleep then?"

Her head moves up and down in a nodding motion, deciding that Booth's new terms are acceptable.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, Booth walks to Christine's bedroom that has been empty for so long. Too long. But their little girl has finally returned, providing a new lease of life that illuminates her pink and purple bedroom. Once inside, her lets her go and she crawls onto her bed, snuggling under her warm and comfortable covers, a far cry from the threadbare, smelly ones she'd be given while under the care of Aline Dunn. Booth observes her for a moment; her eyes closed, her cheeks still slightly red and puffy from crying and her mouth turned up in a sweet smile. He can't help but ruminate on how beautiful she is as he grabs her pyjamas and passes them over to her. She's just like her mother – both in looks and in personality. Although there are aspects of Christine that are exactly like him, he's glad that she takes after Brennan so much. He doesn't think there could be a better role model out there for little girls than his intelligent, determined, strong and overall amazing wife.

Speaking of, Brennan always makes Christine a mug of warm milk whenever she's struggling to fall to sleep, so he decides that's what he'll do. He knows tonight will be hard for all of them – especially Christine – and he wants to do anything he can to make her comfortable and ensure that she knows she's loved and that they'll do anything to keep her safe.

A few minutes later, the warm drink in his hand, he reappears in his daughter's bedroom. Finding her already tucked up under the covers with Brennan lying beside Christine as they read Horton together, Booth's lips lift into a smile. "Hey there, my two favourite girls."

They glance up at his voice and grin at him.

"I'm pretty sure we're your only girls," Brennan states factually, though her eyes twinkle with delight at the moniker he gives them.

"Still my favourites." He places the mug on Christine's bedside table then perches next to his wife on the bed. "Hank still asleep?"

"He is. I think he can sense that we've all relaxed so now he can, too. Thank goodness. I was getting worried about how little he was sleeping…"

Christine's pupils widen. "Hank was scared?"

"We all were, sweetheart," Brennan says, running her hands through her daughter's hair in comforting strokes. "We all love you very, very much and we didn't want to lose you."

"I didn't want to lose you either," she sobs, causing her parent's hearts to break all over again.

"You didn't and you won't," Booth assures her, needing to calm the fear in her eyes.

"Don't leave me tonight." Her voice is desperate and Booth can't physically say no to her. He wants to wrap her up in his arms, protecting her from all the monsters out there in the world and never let her go.

"We won't," Booth promises. "We'll be right here. We won't leave you, pumpkin."

He exchanges a frightened look with Brennan. They're both going to be in for a long, challenging night, that's for sure. If it's not their own nightmares that keep them awake, it will be Christine's and the thought alone is enough to cause is heart to seize in terror.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Booth had been right.

It seemed that almost every time their daughter closed her eyes, she'd wake up screaming and crying within ten minutes, her chest rising and falling frantically with each erratic, fear-filled breath.

Nightmares tormented her without an end in sight. No matter what Booth and Brennan did to reassure her they were there and nothing bad would happen, the horrific dreams persisted.

None of them slept.

Hence, the bags beneath Brennan's eyes as she sluggishly climbs up the stairs to the forensic platform where all six corpses lie, poised to provide the Jeffersonian team with the final pieces of the puzzle needed to secure an Aline Dunn conviction. Despite the recording Booth had taken, they want a strong forensic case, too, so the judge can lock Dunn behind bars for as long as they possibly can and for Brennan's own piece of mind, as well.

"Hi, sweetie," Angela says, greeting her best friend with a tight hug. "How's that gorgeous little girl of yours?"

"Terrified," Brennan replies honestly, shaking her head a little. "She spent more time last night crying in our arms than anything else. _The nightmares_ … We couldn't do anything to help her."

"Maybe you could take her to a psychiatrist," Cam suggests, wincing at the sharp glare the sleep-deprived anthropologist sends her. "I'll take that as a no."

Angela steps in to persuade her. "I know you hate psychology, Brennan, but what if it's the only thing that will help Christine?"

"Because she has such a great track record with psychologists? She falls completely in love with Sweets; he basically becomes her closest relation - other than Booth and I – and is then brutally murdered and taken away from her without getting to say goodbye. _Then_ her kidnapper is a psychologist… I don't think it's a good idea."

"You know your daughter best."

"Yes, I do," Brennan snaps. "Now can we stop talking about her when I have to examine the set of corpses my daughter could have easily been a part of?" Her co-workers purse their lips, averting their gazes. She lets out a breath of relief. "Thank you."

The anthropologist pulls her hair up into a ponytail and gloves her hands. She begins her thorough analysis of each victim, Arastoo assisting by providing her with any new information he'd discovered while Brennan had been… _focused on other things_. Her face is serious, hardened with determination as she fights against every urge within her to break down and cry. These girls were so young. They didn't deserve this. Nobody could deserve this truly horrific treatment. And Christine could have been one of them…

"I've found something!" Hodgins announces, raising his arms in a joyous celebration that breaks Brennan out of her concentrated examinations of the remains. "I found some sediment on the soles of their feet that's found in – get this – the area in which the original house we traced Dunn's call to is located and also the subsequent warehouse she transported the girls to. KING OF THE LAB!"

"Techs also found blood spatter all over the basement walls and floors," Angela adds, tapping the keyboard to bring up the crime scene photographs of said blood spatter on the screen, while simultaneously rolling her eyes at her husband's "King of the Lab" antics.

"I ran DNA on the blood and found it belonged to three of our victims. So surely that makes me, what? Queen of the lab?"

Hodgins pulls a face at Cam's words, spluttering as he tries to find a response and comes up empty.

"While that's all good, none of it conclusively links the victims to Dunn," Brennan says tersely, pausing as her eyes survey Lily Edwards' body – their final victim. Her attention is captured by something in the fingernails of her left hand. Brennan adjusts the Mediocam over it so she can see more clearly and – _Yes._ There is something in her nails, like Lily scratched something or hopefully _someone_ and the material wasn't removed before her vicious murder. "Unlike what I've just found."

Surprised, the team gather around Brennan. They thought they'd exhausted all information from the remains, yet – once again – Brennan manages to find a tiny detail that will solve the case, amazing them every single time, even after over a decade of working with her.

"Look at Lily's fingernails. Whatever she scratched is still embedded there. If it were Dunn, you might be able to retrieve some skin cells, Cam."

The pathologist's eyes light up as she grabs a petri dish and takes the sample, hurrying off the platform and into her autopsy suite to run the test.

As Brennan watches her go, she hopes Cam will find some conclusive evidence to prove Dunn is responsible for the murders. Without it, the defence attorney could spread reasonable doubt by suggesting Ricky Taylor committed the murders when they knew he'd only been blackmailed into the operation by Dunn to help her stalk and kidnap her victims.

Aline Dunn is the sole person accountable for the deaths of these beautiful, innocent girls that were much, much too young to die and Brennan damn well hopes she suffers for it.

If she were religious like her husband, she would send up a prayer, but she's not, so she can only cross her fingers in an irrational technique of wishing for good fortunate.

"Please, please, please," she murmurs under her breath.

* * *

Booth holds onto Christine's hand tightly as they disembark the elevator and make their way through to the conference room.

Agents who worked the case stop and stare, equal parts amazed that they got the little girl back in one piece and delighted for their boss and his sweet family. Christine cowers under all the attention she's receiving, shifting closer and closer to her father, the grip on his hand tightening.

Booth, finally tearing his eyes away from his physically and emotionally drained daughter long enough to notice the stares, shoots daggers at all of his employees. "Get back to work," he orders and they all scurry off in varying directions. "Sorry about that, sweetheart," he says softly as he leads her into the room where Aubrey awaits, shutting the door behind them.

"Hey there, Christine," Aubrey greets with a broad grin, lifting his palm for a high five.

Christine enthusiastically slaps her hand against his, the anxiety she'd experienced moments earlier momentarily forgotten. "Hi, Uncle Aubrey!"

Booth pulls back a chair and sits down, his daughter clambering into his lap. He wraps his arms around her front and drops a kiss to the top of he head. "Ready, baby girl?"

She nods apprehensively and Aubrey clicks start on his voice recorder.

"Do you remember when and where you were taken from, Christine?"

"I was at school," she mumbles, her eyes downcast. "I was just playing outside and this… this big, scary man came over to me and said I had to follow him. I tried to run, but… he wouldn't let me."

"Was it this man, Christine?" Aubrey questions, showing her a picture of Ricky Taylor.

"Yes," she squeaks, fear paralysing her.

Aubrey speaks into the recorder, confirming the man who took Christine was Ricky Taylor, arrested on kidnapping charges. Then, looking back at the five year old before him, the adorable mini-Booth, his eyes soften. "Do you know where he took you?"

"To a house, I think. But it was dark…"

"It's all right if you don't remember everything," Booth whispers tenderly. "You're doing so well, princess."

"After mommy and daddy called, we moved to a big w-warehouse…" Her words trail off, her lip trembling. "It smelt so bad… I was s-so scared…"

"I'm sorry, Christine, but I need to know, did the man or the woman do anything to you?"

"She threw me and I broke my arm," she says, losing the battle to retain her tears, her cheeks hot and wet. "She k-kept calling me L-Lauren and I didn't u-understand…"

"That's OK. Did they say they wanted to kill you?"

" _Aubrey_ ," Booth warns, struggling with the sight of his daughter so upset and not thinking he could take hearing her response.

"I have to ask," he responds regretfully. "It's my job to ask."

Booth sighs and squeezes a sobbing Christine in his arms. He softens his tone for her. "Go on, sweetheart."

"O-only when I-I tried to fight back-."

"Atta girl," Booth murmurs, making Aubrey smile a little.

"I was so scared," she confesses.

"I bet you were. But you were so brave, you managed to escape. Now, can you explain to me how you did that?"

She nods timidly. "There was lots of noise… I don't know what was happening… she ran away, leaving me in my cell. I tried the lock and it o-opened so I ran out… I waited until it was quiet and nobody was around, then escaped… I kept running until I saw a man with FBI on his t-shirt," – she glances over her shoulder at a shell-shocked Booth – "the same one as you, daddy, and I told him I needed to go to the Jeffersonian… I know you told me not to talk to strangers, but…"

"You did the right thing," he assures her, kissing her cheek.

"He drove me to mommy's lab and I went to her bone room, but I couldn't find her… I saw Auntie Angela's office… and then she drove us to the hospital."

"Atta girl," Booth repeats, beyond impressed with how brave and resourceful and rational she'd been, even in the face of great danger. Just like her mom _and_ dad, he thinks proudly.

"What your dad said," Aubrey replies, switching off the recorder. "I have everything I need here. Well done, Christine."

Before Booth can re-affirm Aubrey's words, his wife comes rushing into the conference room, her face red and her pupils wide.

" _Bones_?"

She practically throws the file in her hand onto the table in front of Aubrey, the two FBI agents equally shocked by her presence and anxious demeanour. "We found Aline Dunn's skin cells in Lily Edwards' fingernails. Cam ran the test three times, just to be sure. That's enough, right? Please tell me that's enough."

A wide smile forms on Booth's face as he gathers his wife and daughter in a tight hug. "That's enough, Bones," he tells her, peppering kisses all over her face.

Aubrey leaves the family to it, needing to finish the report that will fry their murdering psychologist. The moment is clearly emotional for them and he thinks they should be alone for it.

"I love you both so much," Booth says, tears in his eyes.

"We love you, too, daddy," Christine promises, snuggling into both of her parents.

That evening, as they all sit in front of their TV eating Thai, the Flyers winning 3-0, Booth finally feels content. It's a simple tableau, Booth, Brennan, Christine and Hank all in matching orange sportswear as they dig into their favourite take-out, but it's incredibly meaningful to him. He thought they'd never get the opportunity to do this again – he really thought they'd lost her. When he'd received that phone call what feels like a lifetime ago, telling him his daughter had gone missing, his world had crashed around him. They'd been so happy and suddenly, just like that, everything had been taken away from them. Her life had been at the whim of a serial murderer. She could have died. A split-second decision, one small mistake and his daughter could have gone forever. But she didn't. She survived. She managed to escape from the grasps of the disturbed psychologist and find her way back to them. She found her way back _home_.

 **I'm very uncertain about this chapter (I just feel like it's a bit crap) but I wanted to post** ** _something_** **for you all. So, please leave a review. Lemme know what you think. :)**

 **And stick around for the epilogue that should hopefully be uploaded in the next few days…**


	20. Epilogue

**"I know you wish some things could have been resolved. Closure, they call it. But life is just a lot of loose ends."**

It's been six months since what is now referred to as The Incident (that being the week and a half long period when their daughter had been kidnapped by a psychotic serial murderer) and Booth and Brennan can finally feel their lives beginning to return to normal.

Despite the fact that Christine still sees a psychologist once a week who helps with her nightmares and her separation anxiety from her parents, and the fact that there are still sleepless nights, and whenever one of their horrid murder cases involves a child, they both feel a shoot of pain, they are recovering. It can never happen overnight - particularly with the extent of stress and pure, unadulterated fear they'd experienced - but each day, it gets easier, the pain fades away.

Aline Dunn is in jail about to receive a life sentence and she can't hurt them ever again, but for some reason, Booth finds himself wanting to see her again.

He can't explain it and all of their friends think it's totally crazy. And they're right. It _is_ totally crazy to feel sympathetic towards a woman who senselessly murdered six children and kidnapped his own, but, after their conversation in Brennan's hospital room where she'd explained _why_ she did what she did, Booth couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop thinking about her poor, innocent daughter.

She'd been murdered, just like the six girls. However, unlike Dunn's victims, her daughter's killer had never been found, never been brought to justice, Evie never even got a proper _funeral_.

As a father, he can't let that stand.

It doesn't matter what Aline Dunn did, her daughter was innocent, her daughter didn't deserve to die, but she does deserve some sense of closure.

So Booth starts working overtime, driving himself into the ground. He has dark bags beneath his eyes constantly, his muscles ache so bad that some days he can barely walk and his eyes are sore and blurry with exhaustion. He has his normal cases (and a lot of them - it seems that every murderer in the DC area has decided to strike during the six months post-The Incident), _plus_ the Evie Dunn case.

He doesn't have any help. He doesn't _want_ any help. This is a personal thing. He has to do it for his own piece of mind. Nobody understands it anyway.

It's fine, it's just exhausting.

It's when he hits the six month mark that he actually starts to make some progress in the investigation. He finally manages to convince DC Metro to give him the body - well, by him, he means the team at the Medico-Legal lab, who have reluctantly agreed to autopsy Evie's remains after a great deal of persuasion on Booth's part - and thus he starts to learn more about how this sweet little girl was killed.

Cam runs a tox screen and finds traces of poison in her system. Just like Dunn's first victim, Sophie McNally, he recalls.

"Arsenic. Classic murder poison," Cam tells him, handing over Evie's autopsy report. "Horrible way to go."

"Are there any nice ways to go?" He lifts the folder in a wave-like gesture, then leaves Cam for his wife's office. It's empty with a note left for him on her desk.

 ** _Booth - I'm in bone storage all day._**

He shakes his head. Of course. Why should he expect anything else?

When Brennan is having a hard time, she tends to resort to what she knows. Bones. So he finds her pouring over unidentified remains in Limbo, her back arched, her hair tumbling out of her ponytail and in front of her face.

He watches, amusement twinkling in his eyes, as she brushes the strands away with a huff, only for them to fall back down again.

"Need my help?" He says, the volume of his voice slightly higher than normal in order to catch her attention.

He's successful.

She glances over at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. "Oh! Booth!"

He ambles over to her, one hand casually resting in his pocket. "What're you doing, Bones?"

"Examining these remains. This person suffered extensive injuries," she replies, pursing her lips as she traces the fissures with her gloved finger. "They must have been in a lot of pain."

"How about you, Bones? Are you in a lot of pain?"

She looks up at him. "What? No! I have no physical injuries-."

"I'm not talking _physical_ pain."

"You know I don't believe in psychology, Booth," she dismisses him, returning to the skeleton.

"You only spend all day in Limbo when something's wrong. I'm your _husband_ \- you can tell me. What is it? What's wrong?"

"First of all, you _know_ I hate it when you call Bone Storage that and secondly, I'm fi-."

"You're _not_ fine, Bones," he says with a pointed stare. He snatches the collarbone from her hands and places it back on the metal table, taking her hands in his. He looks deep into her eyes. "Talk to me."

"On the news this morning..." Her words trail off. She clears her throat. "There was a little girl... Eight years old... Missing... It just-."

"Reminded you of Christine," he finishes. "That's understandable."

"It's not rational though, Booth. I know she's safe, I know that, I just can't help but worry, for some reason."

"That's because you're her mom and you love her. That's _completely_ rational," he promises.

She averts her gaze and pulls her hands out of his tight hold, wringing them together in an anxious motion. "So, what are you doing at the lab? Did you just come to check up on me?"

"I was already here."

"Oh." Her eyes meet his again. "Evie Dunn."

"Yes. Cam found cause of death," he says.

"Which was?" Her interest is piqued.

"Poisoning. Just like the first victim - Sophie."

"I'm sure Sweets would say there's some psychological claptrap behind that," she responds with a small shake of her head.

Booth's lips quirk into a smile. "I'm sure he would. I, uh, need to get back to the office. Find out if Jean ever bought arsenic."

"OK."

He's cautious to leave. "Will you be all right here?"

"I'm a grown adult, Booth."

"I know but-."

"I'll be _fine,"_ she asserts. "I'll see you for dinner."

"Right. Dinner."

As he drives from the Jeffersonian to the Hoover Building, his wife's concerned expression tumbles over and over in his mind. He knows The Incident will never leave them and some days will be more difficult than others, but still. He wishes his wife didn't have to suffer anymore. He wishes this could all just disappear.

* * *

Back at his office, he's scrolling endlessly through Evie's father's bank statements, searching for any record of him buying the arsenic that killed his daughter.

After about an hour, he strikes a lucky chord.

Three years ago. Jean Berat withdrew enough money to buy a significant amount of arsenic. And, as if his luck cannot get any better, he's tracked the man to a Condo in Florida.

 _Boom!_

He's got him.

He throws his jacket on and hurries out of his office, nearly knocking into another agent and spilling hot coffee all over them. He races to the parking structure then drives like hell to the prison where Dunn is locked up.

He's visited her several times since her arrest. Each time he sees her, bile rises in his throat, her face a harsh reminder of all the bad things she's done. But he sees Evie in her face, too. And it reminds him why he's doing this, why he can't give up. That little girl isn't around to defend herself and she doesn't have parents who can do so either, so it's up to him to find her justice, to allow her to finally rest in peace.

As he sits on one side of the thick glass waiting for Aline to come traipsing through on the prisoner side, he bounces his knee up and down. He's anxious to get this over with, to return to his family. He hates being away from them these days.

He hates being opposite his daughter's kidnapper more.

Her face is more wrinkled now, her eyes darker, more menacing, prison having hardened her somewhat pleasant looking and normal exterior. Now she looks as evil on the outside as she is on the inside.

" _Seeley_ ," she snarls, lifting the phone to her ear. " _What do you want_?"

"I've found proof Evie's father killed her. Local cops have arrested him in Florida and are bringing him here to DC," he says, his eyes never leaving hers. "Congratulations. You two are just as bad as each other. But if anything, you're _worse_."

" _Then why are you here,_ _ **Seeley**_?" She spits out his name with as much contempt as he has towards her.

"Somebody has to do right by Evie, even if neither of parents will."

" _I_ _ **did**_ _do right by my daughter_!"

"By murdering other girls in the same way? You think she'd be _proud_ of you for that?" He scoffs. "You're a child killer. She'd find you just as disgusting as everybody else does."

She grits her teeth, her stare icy. If there wasn't a slab of reinforced glass between them, he thinks Dunn would strangle him.

"We're having a funeral for Evie," he continues regardless. "I've paid for a nice plot, a respectable headstone. She's going to be comfortable."

" _Do I get to see her one last time_?"

Booth barks with laughter. "God, no. You lost that privilege when you kidnapped seven girls, murdering six of them. Evie will be laid to rest in the absence of her disgrace of a mother. If you even class as a mother."

" _ **Seeley**_!" She shrieks, anger resonating in her tone.

"Goodbye, Aline," he says curtly, slamming the phone onto its receiver. With a smirk in her direction, he turns his back to her. She's irrelevant now. She's going to be behind bars for the rest of her life.

He feels a nice sense of relief, of closure, like he can finally start to forget about Dunn, about The Incident and move on with his life, his family's life.

He just has one more thing to do.

* * *

It's a cool fall evening, burnt orange leaves are floating to the ground, the tall trees that surround them are bare, yet somehow still majestic. The cemetery is truly beautiful. A fitting place of rest for a young girl as beautiful as Evie.

They're all gathered around her coffin as the priest says a prayer, everyone bowing their heads in respect.

Booth, Brennan, Christine and Hank are here. Max, too. Aubrey and Jessica stand hand-in-hand next to Hodgins, Angela and Michael Vincent. Cam and Arastoo are here along with the other squinterns. Wendell. Clark. Daisy. Little Seeley. The parents of the other six victims stand in solidarity with the young girl who's parents were so cruel. None of them may have known her when she was alive, but they couldn't have nobody attend her funeral. She deserves to know people care.

"And, now," the priest says, his head raising, "Seeley Booth will give the eulogy."

Booth nods, squeezing Christine's shoulder as he passes her and stands beside the all-too-small coffin.

A photo frame of Evie sits atop the coffin. Her cheeks were still chubby with youth, her hazel eyes sparkling and happy, a pink bow stuck in her beautiful curly brown hair. She remains frozen at the age of six. Just like the other victims. Taken too young.

"I never knew Evie personally, obviously. I've done a lot of research into the way she lived over the past six months though - I've seen pictures, home videos, heard stories from the woman who raised her and I believe Evie was a happy child."

He surveys the people before him. Friends. Family. Grieving parents. They all have one thing in common: they despise Aline Dunn. As they should. He does, too. She's ruined countless lives. She's a sick woman. But she loved her daughter and her daughter who didn't know any better loved her back equally. Her life with the mother she adored was happy.

"She was smart, talented, she was surrounded by love. She could have achieved great things, but she didn't get the chance. She was taken from our world too soon through no fault of her own and I know I, for one, will think of her, remember her legacy, every single day." He removes a red rose from the bouquet at his side and drops it on top of her coffin. "Rest in peace, Evie."

The sentiment is echoed by the mourners before him as they each step forward to lay a flower and pay their respects. When Christine comes forward, Booth lifts her up into his arms so she can reach the top of the coffin, then cuddles her close once she's dropped the flower.

Brennan approaches him then, leaning into his free side, Hank in _her_ arms. He snakes an arm around her waist, tugging her as close as possible, their foreheads touching.

They stand together in silence, as a family, watching as Evie's coffin is gently lowered into her grave.

If this case has taught him one thing, it's how important it is not to take their family for granted. They are so lucky to have each other, to be loved by each other and he swears to never, ever forget that as Evie's coffin reaches its depth and the ground is covered over by soil.

 **And we're done!**

 **Whew, that was emotional to write! Just want to say a HUGE, GINORMOUS thank you for all of you who have followed/favourited/reviewed this story - you're the best. I hope you enjoyed this story. :)**

 **And for those of you who want more stories like this, I will be posting another multi-chapter case fic very, VERY shortly... ;)**


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